Emo can't sleep post. Hmn.

I used to love the sound of rain, but this morning it sounds like failure and I absolutely can not sleep.

Here is my confession; I miss living in a trailer in my sister's driveway. The trailer was safe because it was mine, and it was mine because no one else wanted it. No one expected it to be nice, and no one was counting on me. I could--and did--jerry rig all kinds of sub-standard solutions when things went wrong, and it was all ok. It was satisfying; I could listen to the rain. I could dance in it. No one was counting on me, and through my own labor I had privacy, a place to sleep, my guitars were safe, my books were dry.

I've been thinking lately of getting a tattoo, solely for my own benefit. It would a have to be somewhere I could see it, and I've been thinking about some words, simple script, across my left wrist--work harder. I find it deeply appealing, and yet somehow it betrays, even to me, that there's something broken about me, something unbalanced. In my mind I see another word, "peace," across my right wrist so they will weigh the same, but it's harder to believe.

A house can't be really mine. It's worth something. There's too much of it, and by justice it must be shared. This house has weathered 80 years, and if the foundation becomes unsettled I can't solve it by moving around some bricks. I can't use an old dog leash to tie down a tarp and stop the leaking of the roof; I can't cover the windows with duct tape and cardboard and stuff them with grocery bags when I am cold. If I fail, I will have broken something whole, and betrayed the resources trusted to me.

I used to love the rain.