MARIA #8 - GREEN PLASTIC

indians, kitsch, many vowels, snow. i don't know. I feel stuck, but at ease.
the future is so painfully close, I want to be a part of it. I get impatient sometimes. I keep thinking of peoples rooms, people I know. people I have never visited. I love julias rooms, living out of a suitcase, like me, I have seen two of them. the picture of her and her sister when they were kids, some post it notes and jewelry and loads and loads of clothes, and its warm. once when I stayed in her 2nd room in paris there was a heatwave and the only thing I ate was spinache soup and baguettes and the only thing I drank was 1,25 € sparkling wine. and Julia was working and I read and I slept all through the days, too warm to go outside.
I imagine peoples rooms to be filled with things, always. memories on the walls and on shelves and traces of that persons personality. its not always like that. moving on!
lets move on!

I keep using the wrong words, I don't want to say too much, nor too little. I wish i could say more using fewer words.
uh oh ok.