Day 422.

I'm on a hot streak.

Day 421.

Day 420.

Last night, I sort of almost started to believe in a force outside of me that was looking out for me. It was a strange thought, an unexpected thing to feel in my body, in my gut, heart, and head.

Day 419.

Sleepy morning face . . . so much to say, not enough time to write. Must. Reprioritize. Stat.

Day 418.

Day 417.

Day 416.

I am so in love with my old, tired face.

Day 415.

Yay! Today's special guest star: Hilary Engelman aka Pix-a-licious. Rainy Saturdays are better with friends and tea and cafe time and bumping into other friends. Yes.

Day 414.

I think I'm getting sick of this blog. Is this what it feels like to cultivate patience? Ugh.

Day 413.

Such happiness.

Day 412.

Day 411.

Vernal Equinox. 2012.

The family collects, around a new table, sitting on new, soft, powder blue chairs, a pre-purchase image of which was emailed to me, months ago, just after my sister moved into her new apartment. Her new apartment - that's a heavy thing. It's in a shiny monster of an LA gated building called "The Palazzo" and you have to drive to a gate with your car and have the old man who most likely hates his job and hates your stupid face for needing things from him call the tenant you are visiting to make sure you are allowed. And in our case, he had to give us a code, because the complex is so enormous that we had to enter from a different gate than the one we were in front of, before we found a spot labeled "guest," parked, and followed a straight couple comprised of a muscle-y dude wearing an Ed Hardy shirt and a girl with bleached hair, a nose job, a tit job, a half shirt, and $400 jeans into the elevator and up to the penthouse floor.

Day 410.

Going to LA. Happy Persian New Year! Aid-eh-toon Mobarak!

Day 409.

I vacillate so much between being convinced I am doing everything "right" (the best that I can) and "wrong." Like a pendulum, I swing back and forth between total self-love and self-loathing.

Day 408.

My friends are so hot. If that's not love, I don't know what is.

Day 407.

Hair mid-motion.

Day 406.

Packed some books, a couple journals, a change of clothes. I'm out.

Day 405.

Day 404.

Day 403.

Day 402.

Day 401.

Epic housecleaning day shock.

Day 400.

All morning, all day, all-consumed by desire, desire, desire.

Day 399.

I am she who holds a wailing lover in the early morning
As his body startles awake and heaves and shakes,
Digesting loss.
I am she whose cunt bleeds on its own terms,
Onto rags stained brown from past expulsions
The cycle, self-determinant, untainted by hormones meant to trick my womb
Into belief of pregnancy.

Day 398.

I took a few pictures today. This was the ugliest one. But I like it - I think I look kinda like how I feel. A bit haggard. A bit tired. A bit old and lonely.

I was walking around feeling simultaneously cheerful and sorry for myself earlier. The sun was out and I had a sweater on and I had just visited a pawn shop across the street from where a lawnmower got stolen out of the bed of my friend's truck, to see if it had shown up there. It hadn't. And I'd walked outside and realized it was too sunny to have on the outfit I did, and so I indulged in some wonderfully grumpy first-world problem angst. Ugh, it's too hot. Poor me!

Day 397.

Day 396.

a shoebox labeled "love letters" stares at me.

i was restless,
had nightmares
about public nudity and ominous life-changing events
earth shook, 5:30 am
woke
and all i remember now is the first thought,
(a thought new to this cali baby who has rocked and rolled with the longest and hardest of tremors)
i don't want to die alone.
in a daze all day because sleep didn't come
now,
(always)
overwhelming desire to be scooped and held and told
"you won't die alone. we're all here with you."

Day 395.

 Life is a love poem.

Day 394.

Apparently I go through phases with shirts. I love this shirt. I need 10 more.

Day 393.

Love big, love hard, love even more. Yeah, do that.

Day 392.