Emma,

The past four hours of my life belong to two-minute-long advertisements for 1970s compilations emblazoned with top-and-bottom heavy font and entitled (aptly!) FLOWER POWER between the channel changes of Iron Chef (who won) and reruns of comedy troupes sporting Flock of Seagulls hair do's and even the rare, yet beloved anime. I wondered/pondered if my spine would contort to mold the paisley three pillow pillar beneath & behind me. I picked far too much at my rubber salt lips and listened to the Dawning of the Age of Aquarius, and thought in a trifle glee that it, in fact, was the midst of Virgo and just twelve days away from nineteenth birthday.
I am sitting and reminiscing in this citrus lather (I am in the shower!), waiting the unwritten 10 seconds for the soap to sink in. The shower's been running for an hour now and I've accomplished the following: smoked 3 bowls, assembled the shampoos to surround me according to my intrinsic feng shui, and reflected on the past four television shows I saw. A girl I don't know with Humphrey Bogart movie eyes ritualizes her day in an obsession that some existential power keeps her mother alive. Maybe I do this unconsciously.

(written a night ago)