just sweet and epiphany, i am a wing, i'm a prayer

I love those moments where I know I should be nervous, and I anticipate the whole time that my anxiety will send me into bouts of shaking and garbled speech that ultimately lead to the demise of my chances, but then when I find myself in the midst of the moment I realize the emotions forgot to show up, leaving me with a too-good-to-be-true sense of calm and a the notion that maybe I can actually do this quivering within my mind.

But then there's times where they tell me for no good reason that I can't wear those goggles, even around my neck, while they take my license photo. So in the end my plan to have a permanent picture of me dressed as Matt imprinted onto this glossy card of privilege doesn't work because the only identifying feature is the fluffy collar below my chin, which is better than nothing, but a lot more inadequate than it could be.

Sometimes, though, I'm lucky enough to be promised a 'celebration' by my mum. Celebrating with her usually consists of getting fast food. So even though I'm not always hungry, I can at least cash a rain check in later that night and eat my number eight from BurgerKing in happiness, wearing ribbed jeans and a glossy belt and wishing I had a striped shirt, but knowing it needs to be washed and figuring that it doesn't matter since all I really wanted to show my band friends was what I did to my jeans, anyway.

There's also times when I don't even know why I'm talking oddly. Maybe I think it's clever of me, but maybe I also feel that I'm trying to hard and should just stop—it's sort of fun though, so I can just grin to myself and decide it won't matter in the end. Writing never was supposed to be about pleasing everyone, anyway, and I finally get to start realizing that again; everything is more peaceful when I'm not just laying out carefully placed words, meticulously adjusting the angles and arrangements. Sometimes that approach works, but there's times when I just need to get it done, so I try to dump all the words right onto the ground and haphazardly sort through them, some in this pattern and some over here, and—oh hey, maybe this is actually gonna form a clear picture. When I'm finished it'll probably be messy; I'll have to adjust it later, but that's okay because at least now I have a beautiful picture staring up at me, and now that the motivation of actually forming an image is gone, I still have the awareness that with just a little tweaking, this could be perfect. Or perhaps flawed, but in a gorgeous way, one where I'll be able to grin at it when I'm done and be proud to let everyone see it.

UM MAY I JUST SAY, I'M EXTREMELY GRATEFUL TO KAMI-SAMA AND MICHAEL-KUN AND YEAH. Don't give those guys enough credit. Cus you know what, not only was I not nervous throughout the test, but I didn't even have to do half the stuff I'd thought I would—like take another written test, do a three-point turnabout, or back fifty feet in a straight line. I just parked in two diagonal spaces and drove around and parked downhill and that was it, man. The attractive man in the car with me didn't even find it necessary for me to use the emergency brake or whatever it is for parking. o.o; (Which is good, cus ours doesn't work, and I'm not very much used to using it in the first place.)

It also just happened to work out that I woke up early enough, and that we had some bananas left, and that I'd taken a shower the night before so my hair would look lovely.

I'm still not even certain what my beliefs are right now, but I know I believe Kami-sama exists, so I'm attributing all these lucky little things to him. I don't want to forget to be grateful, and I've always said that I don't want to take anything for granted.

So Kami-sama, thank you for letting me pass, and thank you for not letting me crash when I drove to the library by myself, and thank you for letting me get two volumes of Kuroshitsuji, and thank you for Komoda because I love her, and I SORT OF HAVE A BEAUTIFUL LIFE.

I also love this song.

It starts off with this heartrending tone and Patrick's voice, and there's just this overall gorgeous dreary sense to it and oh my. ;-; And then suddenly it picks up, and the hidden tragedy still remains, but then there's more activity and words. Fell out of bed, butterfly bandage, but don't worry; you'll never your remember. Your head is far too blurry. Etc~

I love it I love it I love it. Kami-sama bless Fall Out Boy's souls.

Boycott love. Detox just to retox. And I promise you anything for another shot at life. Imperfect boys with their perfect lives. Nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy.

I love Fall Out Boy kthxbai. ^^