you. YES YOU.

My french press looks awfully smug today. Queenly and defiant (like myself at times), I feel like she’s mocking me for giving into her toxic consumption yet another day. She see’s what’s happening– I haven’t paid her near the amount of attention that she requires in order to keep me happy. I fill her daily with the best smelling organic coffee beans a French Press of any real class could wish for….but the last few days I’ve left the coffee to grow cold and stagnant while I write ferociously unable to recognize real life, real people or my usual object friends that entertain me daily. She feels discarded, she’s achieving that prideful, uppity demeanor I can’t stand in her. I can’t blame her fully,  A) I’m moving, B) I’ve been stuck in my writers head for days now. It’s been terrible for she and I.

There’s nothing worse than writing. There’s nothing better than writing. It’s like the man you hate to love, love to hate and never really come to terms with any of the feelings. I don’t want to write anymore —->the terrible-ness about this false  and fleeting desire  is   that    I    can’t    stop.  Here I sit like a brainless robot writing the uncensored, chaotic-evil thoughts springing about in my temperamental female brain.

Writing is the only time I feel alive. It’s the only time I don’t have a life. I want to be the normal girl who goes to celebrations and enjoys the gossip, the duck clatter. I want to flirt without thinking about the boy as one of the characters who I will smoosh into my next novel….or think that I am dancing with the wrong boy, because that high-class-snobby-boy who’s kept to himself the whole evening, would suit my pages much much better. I do love people more than anything-but really, humans are so overwhelming. Maybe that’s why I write about them. Once  you   sentence   them   to   the  death-and  new  life  of the paper, you can truly (literally) read them, and they become much easier for my brain to understand.

My poor pretentious French Press. Oh how I DO love thee in all thy haughty mischievous glory. But you continue to  toxify my body, fogging my vibrant brain cells and making me forget about pure hydrating H2O.

This is not a post or a poem. What I actually wanted to say was this:

Your words, which YOU my new friends have written, have become like  the blood pumping through my lively heart.

Each word you have written   has  captured  and  moved   into a small space inside my heart—My heart,  which has started an explosion of  happiness.   I’m smiling now.   I’m grinning ear to ear.   Oh what was I thinking, maybe I do love to write.  Since I’ve been moving I have fallen behind on what I would like to say in response to each of you.

So this is for you…my new friends spreading the depths of so many different human beauties, worlds and cultures:

Today I am happy and bright. The sun in the sky is my might. Your words fill my heart to its fullest delight, and I am better than yesterday because of your words might. Yes, today I am very happy. Today I am very  bright. And these words are simple, but it’s the simplest things in life, that fill us with the most delight. Right? 🙂

CIAO for now my friends.

P.s. and if you are reading this from Lebanon, stop reading every post i write. i am a writer not an editor, and if you were here i would probably, very possibly hold you quite tight 😉