Lazy Eye

My Sick Little Boy

My sick boy.
Sick before that day,
Confessing your father's sins.
On my stoop in the city.

Before you found me.
From across the room.
And asked me to explain.

All I could say:
What have they done to your head?
Already so sick.

Long before I loved you.
For nothing besides singing.
And that damage to your head.
My sick little boy.

Minumum Wage

We have another month in Sydney. We like it. We love our flat. And we love each other. We do miss home though. And actually embrace the idea of true winter. We're flying into Hawaii right before Thanksgiving. (We're so excited.) We want to see if it was really as magical as we remember or if we were just elated. After almost two weeks in Hawaii, MacKenzie flies back to the East Coast and I fly to Los Angeles to see my best friend. After Los Angeles, I fly into New Orleans for a few days before finally coming home for Christmas. I'll be home in a little under two months, and it seems so close. But when I think about all that has happened in the last two months, I can't imagine who I'll be, what I'll want, or what I'll have learned since the day I sat in the Sydney library and wrote this blog post.

We can feel ourselves growing. I think that's why it hurts a bit. You know, growing pains. We realized when we got here (and found ourselves broke) that this was the first time we had ever truly been on our own. (We're doing it!!!) We're paying our own rent, buying our own food, paying our own cellphone bills, and fronted the cost for health insurance. (I think that about covers it?) Never have either of us not had the option of raiding our parents fridges, or crashing in our childhood rooms for a few months. (Mommy!)

We learned two things, we could pull it off, and working for minimum wage sucks. They should just call it slave labor. It made us both think long and hard about what we wanted to do next, and we still haven't completely figured it out. But atleast we're thinking.

More soon.

Things I still Love.

The things I still love.

I still love writing. It makes me feel closer to you and closer to myself. Like I never understood what I meant until I wrote it down or wrote it out and sent it to you. The truest form of communication when you're on the opposite side of the planet and it's my favorite.

I still love coffee. That sounds silly, but in finding simplicity because you're saving for flights around the world you come to enjoy little things. My little things happen to be a "soy flat white, extra caffiene." (Even though I miss pumpkin spice anything like crazy.)

I still love music. Even when I don't have anything new to spark my imagination, I can listen to your voices and all of a sudden I'm home, in bed, listening to my friends. You can pick me up when I'm running or stretching or sitting at the edge of my bed, wishing I could cry but I can't get the tears out. (My most common problem.)

But most of all, more than anything, more than any of these things added up and multiplied by infinity, I love my sister. What a gracious and beautiful being. Keeping calm and patient and loving. Laughing at me when I'm anything but funny and sitting with me when I can't think of what to do next. Mostly listening, and watching.

So much to be in love with.