on the same street as the colosseum.

my dreams have been strangely transnational. i was lost in rome, unable to find the house in which i never lived and speaking only english. my favourite street, which was actually part of a dublin that does not really exist and was, for some odd reason, connected to rome, was also just beyond memory. i haunted the irish castle in which i'd neither lived nor died. and my mother, who in real life lived in the philippines and hawaii as a child, had also gone to college in brazil and london, where she acted as campaign manager for her fiance, a man who was not my father. she and i were traveling in india, and i tried to mail her a letter although she was standing just next to me. then there were heroes and wolves in the sewers, and it all got confused.

i am a lucky thing. i shall keep scorn and jealousy in little blue jars in my window. i dropped out of capitalism for a time, and in the same exact moments received gifts i certainly did not deserve. they include an absurdly sexy new laptop which i've convinced at least two of my roommates can be set to vibrate, and due to a quirk of timing a free mobile phone i've yet to get in the mail.

my birthday party shall be on monday the eighteenth. please feel free to dress like a pirate, and bring food or drink if you like. i expect we'll barbecue. email me at p dot dreadful at gmail dot com if you should need directions, and email megan at the ruiner at gmail dot com if you'd like to teach her how to make a proper crazy cake, or generally hurl abuse. she deserves it, as i'm sure you are well aware.

oh! and i have three mangoes, and soon i will have a canary mellon! if you've never had canary mellon, i highly recommend it.

life is neat.