dreaming of my imaginary house instead of being productive/sociable...

Joni Mitchell has, and always will be, an endless source of inspiration to me.

I think it was 4 or 5 years ago when I borrowed "Blue" from my dad's collection and took it in my room. Her music grabbed me, sucked me in, and I was forever hooked. There was something so raw and strange about the way she sang and the words she chose. I devoured everything by her I could. I listened to years of her life go by in a matter of months... listened as her voice went from that of a young songbird to a musky vibrato of a die-hard smoker. And as she grew more melancholy and cynical. She was telling me to be free, and then she was telling me to guard myself.

It wasn't until later that I found out she was also a painter. From then on, we became soul mates. Cheesy, but true.

I know, I know... who in the hell wears 5" heels and a sequin skirt to lounge around and browse through magazines?
Me, that's who (in an alternate dimension).

lovely loos

So, I've always always considered myself something of a bathroom connoisseur. Maybe it's the intimate lighting, or the sleekness of materials... but it's probably just because I pee a lot, and have therefore seen like, every bathroom in the southeast.

 

 

She was sick of father's protesting, of mother's silence, of Isaac's insolence. After years of defending herself, she had become worn. If she had stayed one day longer in the overblown home of her forefathers, her will would be ground into thin paper and blow away for good.

She knew she had everything, and shouldn't dare want for anything more. Perhaps it was naiveté, maybe it was a deep seated desire to prove something to the rest. Whatever it was, it wouldn't let her stay.

And so it was, Hattie slipped free from the silk sheets and smoothed the white linen dress over her torso. For reasons she could not quite grasp, this garment was just one of the many that Isaac could not stand. He showered her with costumes as lavish as the gala's his mother threw all year long, and cringed at the sight of her, "in simple rags." As beautiful as the gowns were, she resented them as a petty excuse for the passion he was not capable of providing.

Hattie reached under the lifted mattress to pull out two precisely packed bags. The necessities: pen and notebooks, her summer hat, maps she collected from her father's circle, and some sparkling pieces she thought might serve her well for a bargain.

It is true, she was naive, but she was also determined against a slow deterioration.

-LS

(i think i might start writing more here and there)