Dear Zonk,
In the mornings, now, I climb halfway up to the office, because it is cheap and easy exercise.
In the nights I’ve begun to practice my chromatics in the hope of getting back to being a decent guitar player someday.
My legs take the stairs in the morning and my fingers take the stairs at night. The time has come to work the flab off of my bones.
And I don’t mean that in a literal way.

I feel sort of sad tonight.

Love always,
K.

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Author: Kirtana K

I paint and make music and blog like a maniac. These days I try to run. But I have chicken legs and lungs the size of two-rupee balloons. I fail. I like pajamas and striped socks and books that read like song and songs that sound like poetry and strangers who read this page. And Maggi when I'm sick or cold or sad or celebrating. They'll find noodles in my veins if ever they cut me open. And potatoes. And maybe a tiny bit of whiskey. I'll be an Unidentified Living Object and they'll put my insides on display. It will be crazy. It will be awesome. It will.

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