Housesitting

I've got that feeling in my stomach, full and slightly burning, like I've just drunk orange juice, and my hair is growing longer by the day, and this couch is starting to talk to me with its dull and muffled voice. As I lay on the carpeted floor of this house I feel the softsharp bristles, and think back to effortlessness, to carefreedom. Although I once looked up at treetops and saw some clear, crisp freedom up there, I think now that freedom is down here. Pushing myself along and trudjing, my skirt hiked up and jealous, there's nothing I wouldn't do to be sure that I will remember that the grass is not greener, that the grass is just grass, that the other side is really just another side, and I'm tired of taking sides. Wary of the potholes but pleased to meet another day, I head out. My kittycat grin is why I love this road, love this road to roads to roads and roads.