trouble.

the admonitions are frequent. i talk with my mom on the phone about once a week. often more. always, there's a reminder to "be safe". "be good". and i think, if only she knew that my wild days and wilder nights consist of me meticulously (sometimes) recording my thoughts. my life. which makes me wonder at times, at what point does one stop having a life for fear that there's something in the living that she'll miss? some thought that might slip away from an already precarious grasp, never to be seen again with the slightest break in concentration. perhaps this is where my intensity comes from. does my mother intuit, like i do, that my greatest dangers come from what i allow myself to think? what i allow myself to see and then roll around in the batter of my thought? perhaps this is where my yearning for a deep fryer comes from.

oh, and did i mention that the highlights of my week have been, fairly consistently, rousing games of trouble? i'm confident in asserting that it's the pop-o-matic combined with the bright colors (the primary colors plus green - why that secondary color? good question. i've been wondering that as well.) that does it for me. and if laura breaks it with her heavy handed pops, there will be hell to pray. at least, that's what i told her last night. hand to god (that's what she said). sometimes i find myself saying words and phrases i had never considered before. and sometimes, after moments like that, i find myself sitting there, grinning like an idiot, so thrilled at the possibilities of language. there will be hell to pray, my friend. there will be hell to pray.