Amanda Fucking Palmer

I've been shuffling through her blog today, reading bits and pieces and looking at the pretty pictures. Found this. I've read it before, and then I forgot it, and now I've found it again. I absolutely loved it when I read it, see. Because I miss feeling like what she describes, when waking up. I miss feeling at peace, happy. I have felt it in the past. But I'm having a hard time remembering when. She's written it so beautifully, and I guess it's kinda cute, too. And so, so true.

~

i often go to blogging in my head upon waking, and i usually never do it, but this morning i reached over and grabbed my mac, it was within arms reach.

morning head: i like this head, when everything is clear and new and things things things start filtering in one by one. first the magic, then the mundane.

i treated myself to this hotel room in portland after lots of relative bed-and-couch crashing.

i move my legs around in the king-size bed, feeling very lucky to exist at all, not knowing anything yet.

left leg works, rubs against sheet.

right leg works, rubs against sheet.

whole body stretches out and feels gloriously enveloped.

things, facts.

i’m in portland.

i don’t have anything to do today but catch up.

i’ll drink coffee.

i love coffee.

the coffee here is good coffee.

this pillow is soft.

i love neil.

his voice sent me off to bed, i remember now.

i remember how.

construction sounds outside.

the blinds are open.

what time is it?

this pillow is soft.

maybe i’ll blog about this.

maybe i’ll sit all day in powell’s bookstore and not work.

maybe i’ll go back to sleep.

because i can.

this pillow is wonderful.

should get a pillow like this.

soft soft pillow.

what would i do with it?

i can’t carry around a pillow like this everywhere.

i live out of a suitcase.

and

that’s the evil moment: that’s when the truth caves things in.

mornings are amazing alone, like this. mornings are also amazing together. there’s that wonderful thing that happens when you’re in love and you wake up next to Them and your brain hasn’t clicked into it’s Self yet and you just become a vessel, a thing that pours love. my instinct, upon waking, to love something. but mornings are amazing alone - the body and the mind can snake around improvisational, making weird things in silence.

then the day comes, the realities materialize, and mundane takes over. the magic might only last twenty seconds, sometimes even less.

used to be when i was home in boston, especially in summer with the sun blazing through the vines in my window, i’d often have this 20 seconds of “i’m going to change my whole existence today” upon waking on an off day where i had nothing planned. i’d lie there in bed: ahhhhhh holy shit, i have nothing to do today…maybe i’ll drive to maine. pick blueberries. see ships. maybe i’ll sit in the boston public library all day and look at 17th century art. maybe i’ll go to harvard and see what it would take to enroll. maybe i’ll learn to play piano. maybe i’ll go work in a soup kitchen.

Etc.

these things would never happen.

i would go to yoga, i would read the paper, and i would spend hours and hours catching up on email and talking on the phone. that is My Life.

this is probably what i will do today.

it’s fine.