this morning i bought a violin. i do not know how to play the violin. i have never even picked up a guitar. but a year or two ago i had a dream in which i was a tragic gypsy woman with twisted caramel hair who wiled away the evening hours in front of an audience of a bonfire and a horse playing tragic gypsy pieces on her one material possession: a violin. okay, so i'm embellishing the great hair detail and the horse being in the dream because i've always wanted beautiful thick buttery hair and it goes without saying that i have always deep down in my heart of hearts wanted a horse because i am a girl. yes, yes, i realize it's a stereotype about girls but it wouldn't be a stereotype if it wasn't a little bit true, right? but i digress. so my dream self was so able to express herself by playing this instrument that it sort of resonated into my consciousness. i woke up feeling like if i picked up a violin, the sadness of the girl in front of the horse and fire would come spilling out in the vibrant tones that i heard in my dream. why i felt this to be true as opposed to say, me waking up with the sexy hair that i've always wanted is, i suppose, related to the fact that i assume that the physical world is going to be the same when i wake up as it was when i went to sleep. there is a mathematical term for this but i'll be diddled if i can remember what it is...hmm... anyway, i understand that there is no such thing as santa claus or the toothfairy and that my hair will be the same fine, purple clump that doesn't quite hit my shoulders because i understand that hair doesn't just grow two feet and get lustrous overnight unless you've got a kick ass fairy godmother, which, as it happens, i don't. my fairy god mother is drinking in front of an all day monster movie fest in her birdhouse or wherever it is that she lives and is staunchly ignoring my presence.

the same thing applies to the horse. i know that in order to unlock that secret desire, i'd have to win the lottery, move to the country and wear dungarees, actually have to go out and BUY the horse, blah blah.

so, knowing that i'm not going to be nuzzled awake tomorrow morning by a mare searching for the sugar cubes i keep under my pillow, i turned my inner cretin, always hungry for fantasy and something to put her grimy little bit of faith into, to the violin portion of that dream.

i have heard stories of people suddenly stumbling upon their life's calling. horsing around in the public swimming pool with friends and taking a dare to dive off the highest diving board and fuckin a'! you're a natural! you plip back into the water, toes automatically pointed, body stick straight, barely a ripple in the water where you disappear. and so it is because that "these things happen" that i am able to justify spending $150 on an instrument i don't even know how to hold. i am not expecting to pick it up tonight, rosin the bow, and whip out a concerto, although that would be nice, and certainly i did feel like it was possible the day after i had that dream. but i do feel like if i hunker down and spend time with my new wooden friend every day that i will eventually be able to reconnect with that gypsy dream self of mine.

i've also sent a letter to my mother requesting that she raid my cedar chest in the attic and send me all my model horses from when i was a kid. that way when i find myself playing for the druggies under the esplanade i can plant one of my little horsies in the dirt by my feet and my dream will become a reality. maybe i could even get a wig.

i now have, um, purple hair.

the bugs in my bathroom are springtails, and now that i know what they are, i have been able to back burner my obsessing over them and boil some other interesting tidbits that have for too long not seen the light of day. like the tiny fine hairs that grow around my belly button. why do they grow slightly darker there? and why do i feel the compulsion to rip them out by the root? social conditioning? medication withdrawal? why?

there are these little fucking bugs in my bathroom. i think they are coming up out of the drains. i have plugged the tub and the sink, and yet i still find them crawling around the counter, the tub, the toilet paper on the back of the toilet. they are small and i know they're not going to hurt me, but i don't like them. in fact, i think it's safe to say that i hate them. hate. them. they are small enough to not be noticed by my boyfriend, who wonders why i notice them in the first place. i know that if they are scuttling around in the bathroom where i can see them, they are also burrowing deep into my belongings, setting up camp, breeding. i don't think they're cockroaches, because they're too small and shaped more like they have segments, although they do have these disgusting feelers that are as long as their bodies. i tried to take a bath last night to relax, but it took me twenty minutes to search the tub and floor around it before i could get in and then i couldn't lean up against the back of it as i was afraid i would get crawled on. spiders are no problem. i've even started to let the ones i can't easily reach live, in hopes that they will eat the little freaky bugs that i can't stand. i feel claustrophobic every time i enter the bathroom, like getting on a crowded stinky elevator where i can't breathe or think. all i can do is bend down and scan the tub like a nutjob, looking for tiny squirming things. when chris came in the bathroom this morning, he caught me doing just that, and i stood up fast, like i'd been caught doing something inappropriate. i'm embarrassed about my obsessing, but i can't help it. i wish i could obliterate the bugs and live in a people only zone. help me, because i can't help myself.

i would like to state for the record that i have achieved something of a small personal best: i have not actively picked at my face, or any subsidary thereof, for an entire week. oh the freedom in not acting like a monkey!