all in my airspace
the other day, Grant took me on an adventure to Footscray. he showed me the markets and we ate lentils and went to savers—where I bought this mad warm jumper and this woollen cardigan. and on the way home, the post office gave me these rad new shoes from the internet. cool day.
so I still don’t have internet at my house.
because I live in the DARK AGES.
… fantasy boyfriend has never stood to better reason.
this room is named as mine, but filled with shapes I hardly know. and less mine than other people. I carve it like a frontier and I crave it like a soul. I craft something of my own with strange pieces I have valued. but an idea is only as complex or as detailed or as certain as the mind of its architect. so mine manifests in valleys of clothes and boxes and coat-hangers. but the books are shelved neatly. win.
on having mad pathetic lung capacity
I am totally laying on the floor, blowing up an air mattress. and I’m incredibly (surprisingly) good at it.
sexual innuendo? (larger, firmer) whatever.
trying to fool my mother that I’m handy, and able to cope in ‘the outdoors’, nuclear fallout, and the north of Brunswick.
failing, of course.