The Brave Little Toaster

My head is full full full. I seem to have a hundred thoughts in every moment, and each seems important. I keep trying to think of what I need to do, what I should do, who I should be, who I want to be, who I actually am. I'm thinking about school and relationships and people and books and the oil in my car. I'm thinking about too much and not enough. I'm thinking about beauy and ugliness. I'm thinking about music that opens and words and assumptions that close. I'm thinking about laughing when you shouldn't and hurting so ice-clearly and not understanding completely why. I'm thinking about the things we do because we're scared and the things we do even though we're scared. I'm thinking about toothpaste and Christmas. I'm thinking about a cedar chest full of things. I'm thinking about today and the days before and a future too far ahead to even really guess about. And I wish I could lay these thoughts out neatly, face up on my palm. I'd like to show you a graph and give you a brochure and ask if there are any questions and then we could systematically go through them and check them off our lists and nodd in agreement. But instead my head is full full full and you're out buying cucumbers, anyway.