For some unknown reason I spend the day confessing: to my penpal, to my blog, to myself.

I watch all the movies I deny that I take pleasure in and state aloud, “I love this movie. It makes my heart sing. It makes me happy.” I tell my penpal about a plan to breakup with someone I’m not even with. I blog these mind blowing moments in my life and don’t do anything with them. They’re saved as drafts.

A day is small is short when you spend all of it emptying out your guts.

“You smell like church – Catholic church – incense.”

I used to hate it when my mom dragged me to confession. I wouldn’t have a damn thing to say. I was never sorry for anything I did, just like today. The best I could ever come up for the priest was sharing how I eavesdropped on all the confessions that came before me; they spoke so loudly.

I was loud yesterday. I blame it on Comme des Garcons Avignon.

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