Denial is a funny thing. You walk out the door and expect these new spring breezes to make the world more fragrant, but you catch a whiff of sewage. Must be a mistake.

Then you begin to notice that after a roomie flushes the toilet, you hear strange splashing noises outside. Must be the neighbors.

Then when you stick your head underneath the house, you see a lot of puddles, and the mild odorant in your spring breeze is now the painful stench of toxic waste stagnant underneath your home. Then you walk inside, and you can just barely tell that the scent ain't quite right. Denial is no more.

In less pungent news, I am re-realizing that I do have the rock and roll in me. It's in my blood: one of the CDs at my radio station happens to be my uncles' band. My maternal relatives are very rock and roll.

Last night I performed at an open mic. At first it was awkward for me, but then it felt right and I remembered how much I love to perform and to play my songs. I actually sang those emotional deals about boys that I've kept to myself all this time! I also sang about barnyard animals. And when an elderly couple came into the coffeeshop: crack cocaine.

It was good.

and the boom box on my shoulder was a box of clementines
i ate every single one without noticing the mold
you said you’re gross my darling, i said no i’m rock and roll