Pumpkin Spice: A Fall Playlist

one: Baby, We're Really in Love by Hank Williams

two: A Fairy Tale by Cindy Woolf

three: Laura by Bat for Lashes

four: Dance for You by Dirty Projectors

five: Back in Baby's Arms by Patsy Cline

six: Afternoon by  Youth Lagoon

seven: Keep You by Class Actress

eight: Time Travel by Blouse

nine: Cold War by The Morning Benders

ten: Forever, Now and Then by Clem Snide

eleven: Never Come Around by La Sera

twelve: Sing a Song for Them by Jenny Lewis

thirteen: Crying (Album Version) by Roy Orbison

fourteen: Harvest Moon (Album Version) by Neil Young


Please, someone teach me how to use Grooveshark.

oh phooey.

 

I try to write a post about something other than love and I simply cannot do it. 

Oh phooey, you've got me, hands cuffed behind my back. My crime?  I can't stop thinking about you.

Did you know that I tried to hate you? Yes, yes I did. My intentions were good, I promise. You had my thoughts running marathons and my mind needed to stop to get a drink of water and catch it's breath. I needed to feel normal- whatever that feels like. 

If it makes you feel any better, I failed. 

fall[ing] rain.

 

And out they come.

The slippers all throughout my room start to peek out of their hiding places. Some pairs linger on the carpet of my bedroom floor more than others- I like to pick favorites. Matched with a large fleece blanket, they make my miserably cold body feel somewhat more comfortable.
And a flip of the switch.
As the temperature falls, it becomes clear that leaving my window open only makes life in the basement  more miserable. With a flip of the switch, I can get an artificial fire burning to keep my limbs toasty warm. I will attempt to read a book as I lounge on the cuddle bag, extremely to the fireplace. I always end up choosing to fall asleep instead.
And the steam rises.
It is an obvious fact that hot chocolate taste better made with warm milk rather than boiled water. The creamy chocolate is an amazing sensation as you feel it running through your body from the minute you swallow it. Drinking the hot chocolate on your porch or by a window makes it taste extra spectacular- it doesn't really, but yet it really does make it seem like it tastes better.
And they turn the color blue.
The gloves go on, sleeves pulled down, and hands stuffed in my pockets. My hands loose their fleshy color and begin to turn into ice cold rocks. Like vampires' hands, but we aren't going there. The cold disables me from writing legibly for the next hour or so. It causes my hands to swell up to the point where it looks like a plastic glove filled with air, ready to burst any minute.


And now I am ready for fall.

director's orders.

What scares me the most is the thought that my life is a live TV show.  It scares me to think that someone may be filming my every move. All my embarrassing moments are exposed to the public. 

No. That's not scary. What scares me is the fact that I have no control of whats going on in my life. I'm afraid of following the director's script.

I hope this is me:

it isn't fall until i post this quote.

Don't you love New York in the fall? It makes me want to buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address. On the other hand, this not knowing has its charms.

-You've Got Mail 

pinch me, please.

The night you walked me home and asked me to dance, I knew that I would never forget you. 

Your name was written in my bones and I told my self that I loved you. Was I too young to know what love is? Was I still-peein'-my-pants young or was I old enough, just old enough, to know if this was love?

I believe your name was written on the bone in my right arm. That's the arm that always hurts. The more I think of you, the more it hurts. Even if duct tape could fix it, I wouldn't let it. 

You are definitely worth the pain. 

Dear Icebergs,

Sorry to hear about global warming. 

Karma's a nightmare.

Sincerely,
The Titanic