introversion causes earthquakes, raining snakes and leprosy

i am oddly soothed by the return of grey weather. everything is flat and nonchalant. it fits my mood. i am once again wrestling with the gap between what i think would make me happy and what i am actually capable of. midday sex. thriving houseplants. teaching a kid to read. lactose-tolerantly sipping cafe au lait in a dive cafe in france, a sheath of astonishingly good writings before me. being up for anything at any time. motivation. channeling my FUCKING MANIC STATE into world-bettering means.
instead i am at the library in shoreline, rumpled and smeary-eyed from the night before, morning-after patina without the tired legs and glow of satisfaction. this is the time of year when everything grinds to a fucking halt. i await spring hungrily.
completely useless things that i have perhaps never documented:
-my favorite kind of furniture wood is cedar or mahogany, dark reddish stains to better offset leaves and decanters of brandy, sunlight filtering through dust. i do not like light wood.
-the best cereal ever is cinnamon toast crunch, but that's a given.
-i had a crush on my friend patty in 6th grade.
-tofu mixed with hot curry powder and a shitload of salt is very good with crackers.
-i tried to parachute off the back of the couch with a plastic grocery bag when i was about seven (not last week). it did not give me the loft i craved.
-my gerbil was named frisky.
-my hands are the exact same size as my mother's.
-i have never been to a bar mitzvah, a bat mitzvah, or a bris.
-i fucking hate the sound of people, including myself, sniffling or repeatedly clearing their throats- more than just about anything. i also hate the word 'sniffle', and try my damndest to never use it.
-showers, not baths.
-salt, not chocolate.
-i cannot cartwheel or do the splits.
-the perfect day might involve pervasive warmth, diner food, amazing sex and a road trip through a winding chunk of americana, not neccessarily in that order.