we live again

Just a quick note.

Night two where Kristina has not gone to bed before the birds have woken up and began to sing their little ditties. Their little simple tunes that I will never begin to emulate.

My typing sounds so loud. So loud. It is intrsuive in the stillness of the night. And yet I am smiling.

No matter how I look down upon drunkeness, it adds a sort of wonder to the world. I wonder how my brain is functioning to connect to my fingers that are typing. I wonder how I am going to crawl into my bed. I wonder how I am ever going to wake up again and why my wrists are so skinny and that shouldn't they deserve more support for all that they do? More bone? More muscles? I am going to live in London in a year. That will be miraculous. God, all I want to do. It' just to live somewhere where I feel challenged. Where I can take walks in beauty. My house. My house is so suburbian. It' so DULL to take walks. It' just asphalt and big houses that you've seen before. Little trees and front yards that all look the same. There are hills a block away but I can't feel safe walking on them. WHy? Because I'm a girl. I'm not trying to make any sort of statement - it's jsut fact.

Dear Mom, Happy Birthday. I love you. Thank you for helping me be who I am. Thank you for buying the "Phantom of the Opera" record when I was 4 and was terrified of the cover. Because being terrified of the cover at age 4 only made me love it more at age 5 and have it in my heart forever and forever. I once forogt about the magic of musicals - thank goodness I've found it again. Mom, music is my life. Thank you for helping me find it.

Happy Birthday.