7:24 AM

Do you ever find old notes you've written to yourself on scraps of paper? Do yours feel as much like ominous warnings from the past as mine do?
"I've got all these new relationships, and, like babies, they haven't got any sort of balance, but the way I've taught myself to approach these things is not nearly as half-heartedly as I have been lately, so maybe it isn't so much a matter of the difference between causation and correlation as I'd anticipated."
"I don't know what sort of love I'm expecting or how that differs from the love I'm looking for, but I've realized in the past few nights of sleeping and only sleeping in his bed that the only thing all of my ex-boyfriends have in common is chipped front teeth."
"I like people with unrealistic expectations."
They're everywhere, these notes. I find them tucked in school notebooks, under dressers, in the corners of pockets and in the closet. Every so often, one will turn up at the bottom of my bag when I scoop a handful of coins.
When I was young, I had a lot of little games I played when I was by myself. When I couldn't sleep, I used to open our heavy back door, put a chair in front of the closed screen door, turn on the porch light, sit in the chair and lightly flick the screen with my finger whenever a moth landed on it. The moth would be propelled forward, and I'd wait for another moth to land. I'd climb high up in pine trees and silently study my neighbors and the people who jogged on my block. I wouldn't move for hours.
I'm having a difficult time trying to make connections.