says the rain outside my apartment this morning.
she speaks so softly that i have to open my door and fixate on the hood of the nearest car to see if it's in fact really raining or--as i suspected--she has finished speaking and all i hear are last night's words dripping from the roof onto the ground and foliage beneath. well i was almost right. once i saw what was a steady, thick mist filling up my saturday morning i ducked back inside, headed straight to my cabinet, measured three scoops of blue bottle heaven, and let the coffeemaker finish the job.
i think i'll sit here a little while longer. it's so quiet--everyone in l.a. could be gone and i wouldn't even know it. just me, still a little frustrated with the way last night turned out. i had plans to go to a nearby comedy club and have drinks afterwards with a group but there was a ticket debacle (to no fault of my own) and i missed out on the show. i had dressed up from head to toe for this evening, but my dress and heals were reluctantly taken back home to witness what felt like an entire season of entourage and the consumption of almond butter straight outta the jar. i don't know why almond butter has become a "pity me" snack but i should probably find a replacement.
what are my plans after i peel myself off this cozy couch? the library. i think that's what the rain is telling me to do, or at least that is how i am interpreting her melancholy tone.
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