The Beginning Of The End

Today is the day that I hope to send in my first set of college applications. There will be more after that, of course, but at least this is the beginning of the end. I’m a little more than nervous with some of the choices that I’ve made... I didn't want to go to an all-girls-school but somehow the schools I was most looking forward to turned out to be recently co-ed girls schools. They could be fine; I just don't like the idea of all girls or all boys. It just doesn't seem natural. But then again, in the end I will go to a school that is all college students... unnatural?

Wish me luck.

Sickie

Why have I had all the bad luck? I must be a magnet for the unfairness of the world. Perhaps I am just the right flavor for “ruin” and “dash all the wonders away.” Life is an ass at times.

The moment break broke out, I took ill. Mac was sick first, with the nasty flu. I caught it from him and was very, very upset. I couldn’t understand why someone so sick would, rather than going home, would stay in a small house and subject everyone to an illness. He used the dishes, bathroom, hallways, doorknobs, blankets, juice containers, and everything else that I used. It was obvious why I got sick. So pissed was I. Though my dad jokingly pointed out to me that, “exactly right, if it’s someone else who’s sick, they should just journey off somewhere. Or better yet they should just crawl under a rock *laughs* but when it’s you everyone should take care of you.”

Yep that was pretty much it. I was feeling quite selfish in my illness, that and sick. I was sick for my mom’s birthday (all of Christmas eve), and then Christmas didn’t happen until about 8 at night, because I was too sick all that afternoon.

I got better later, and was thrilled to be healthy again. I had so many things I wanted to do! I wanted to see everybody. And especially see…

But believe it or not, somehow I got sick again! I got a cold this time, less horrible, but still NOT something I was happy about. Not at all. So here I am still, in bed, just a little sickie being sick.

I got a couple of visitors while I was ill. That always makes me feel better. Thanks :)

4) Fountain Pennies

On special days when my mother felt we needed some culture, she would drive Kylie and I to Duncan’s Mills, a town fifteen minutes away, inland from the ocean. Jenner was small and quiet, with neighbors that waved and plenty of sea. It lacked however, everything else that a town might have. There was no restaurant, no art, and no sidewalks even. Duncan’s Mills could hardly be called a cultured town either, but it was the best my mother could do if she didn’t want to spend the day driving.
Riding there, Kylie and I used straws and toilet paper to launch spitballs at passing cars. Like little banshees we giggled and giggled, as we made faces and punched each other. My mother laughed quietly, with her sunglasses on.
Duncan’s Mills was small and misty because of the hills around it. Like a cup they kept the watery clouds low over our heads. The buildings were short, and relatively new, except for the general store that looked ancient in every way. As Kylie and I stepped through the door, a small bell tinkled above us in welcome. The shopkeeper was much less welcoming as he glowered at us over the counter. He seemed to blend in with the aged wood and deep smell of mildew. He was a salty man with peppered whiskers, the corners of his eyes puckered from straining, and his posture was bent from years of unpacking crates.
The floors were made of a dark brown wood that creaked with each step, betraying our whereabouts to the watchful gaze of the near-sighted shopkeeper. There were racks of strange fishing lures, all of them shimmering and squishy between curious fingers. There were glass jars on dusty shelves filled with many-colored candies, greens and blues, deep reds, and chocolaty browns all coated with loose sugar.
Timidly, I would hand my dollar to Kylie who would be a man and pass it to the grimacing, grumbling, shopkeeper and casually ask for two sour-ropes.
As the tinkling bell wished us well, we raced past the line of art and antique galleries to the fountain in the back garden. There we would suck on the bright candies and turn our mouths inky colors as we fished out rusting coins from the fountain when no one was looking.

3) Crazy Horse Cabin

My eyes opened slowly on that fateful day. The sound of the ocean carried in through the open window, the crashing of the waves dulled by distance to a low melodious sound. Although it was not this music that had awakened me. It was Mom. I slept through everything back then.
A breakfast of hash browns awaited me down stairs. Always hash browns, lovely, golden-brown hash browns. I heard them sizzling in the oven, filling the small kitchen with my favorite smell, as the light poured in through the wide windows. The early morning light caught on the little trinkets sitting on the windowsill, like sunlight catching on the satin leaves of the trees above.
Only Mom knew where we were going, so I followed her to the car, dressed in overalls, my hair unruly. The door slammed after us, alarming the screeching gulls. Silly gulls. They were afraid of everything, unless of course you happened to have crackers. They are like humans that way. With a bribe you can keep them close enough to touch. I’ve seem them gobbling up crackers. They swallow them in one bite, without a worry about the size. You can see the outline of the cracker, even after it has disappeared beneath the beak.
Minutes passed, and the car plunged down a dirt road, into the shadows of majestic redwood trees. Cool, damp air surrounded everything here, as if night had caught up with us faster than it was meant to.
The schoolhouse was nestled among these giant trees, across a tall bridge. A small sign in front displayed its name, Crazy Horse Cabin. My new school was old, and constructed of dark wood, its brick chimney towering above me. And yet, it paled in comparison to the enormous tree trunks surrounding it on every side. My new school seemed so out of place, but as soon as I stepped inside I knew it was my place.
The buzzing chatter of children swept me up as I passed through the threshold. Each conversation indistinct, but still familiar. Round, soft faces turning excitedly to each other. I released my mother’s hand to mingle amongst the smiles. I knelt in front of the empty fireplace, gazing into it. It was a cave, dark and deep. Soot lined the inside; it had blazed bright with fire many times.
A boy came up and sat next to me. His eyes were bluer than icy topaz, and his hair was more yellow than fields of parched grasses. It would only be days until we would be eating hash browns together, listening to the sizzles, and giggling next to the kitchen window, the ocean still churning in the distance.

2) Spirals In The Sand

Two minutes from the moss covered steps of our new home I could feel the sand beneath my bare toes. Like silky granules of sugar, the sand stuck to my ocean-splashed legs, which stung mildly from the salty waves. The sun shone brightly, though the wind blew like cool spirits on my face and neck.
I found a small inlet at the back of the long beach where I could shelter myself. The tall earthen-arms of the dry hill surrounded me on either side, blocking out the chill. I watched the Russian River churn before me, and I heard the ocean pounding beyond the yellow dunes. There were cars above me on top of the steep hill, speeding along into the distance, the drivers thrilling themselves with the sharp turns. I could barely hear the engines. They seemed far away, just as Philadelphia seemed like a dream now, still impressed into my memories, but subdued like memories that belong to another.
My mother slept beside me in the inlet, stretched out in the warm sand luxuriously, like a placid stone, content to exist. Her rough baseball-hat tilted across her face to shade it from the glare of the sun.
I bent down, cocking my head curiously to one side, peering under the rim of the hat. My mother’s face was peaceful and soft, her lips slightly parted and her eyes fluttered delicately.
My young mind puzzled as I drew absentmindedly in the sand with my fingers. She had never looked this way before. Her face always seemed to be pulled more tightly around her eyes and mouth. They were kind, but never as soft as they were now. At Race Street she walked stiffly, and slept tensely. It must have been the cars that seemed so close. Maybe it was the way at night there were no stars to light the rasping conversations in the shadowed alleys. Perhaps it was the keys she wanted to leave behind. There were too many, one for the front and back door, one for the basement, and one for each set of bars on all the windows. Together those keys crowded the thin clip, and caused my mother to fight with them day after day, trying to figure out which was which. She only had to worry about one key now, and she didn’t even bother bringing it with her today. It rested on the kitchen table, silently beyond the un-locked door.
The air was fresh with newness. Feathery seeds blew in the breezes, seeking freedom and a new place to take root and raise their leaves to drink in the sun. I plucked loose grasses from the hill and stuck them into mounds of sand. I drew spirals with my toes, and surrounded them with grey pebbles. My fingers got stronger as they gripped at the possibilities. I looked out at the beach again and saw that it was strewn with more than I could hold, but I smiled in knowing that I could try, without my mother waking in fear.

1) Stairway Into Nothing

The night sky was opaque and seemed to stretch forever as I stared up at it through the car window. The stars were bright here, blazing like scattered embers burning their way into a dark rug. My feet draped lazily over the grocery boxes crowding the back seat. I knew the routine well. Every weekend as soon as school was finished, my mother and I would pack up the car and go north, past the cows to our little house by the sea.
The car pulled to a stop in a gravel strewn pull-out and the car door thudded as my mother stepped out onto the ground, the pebbles crackled under her feet like strong jaws crushing hard candies.
I felt the boxes being pulled out from under me as little by little my mother stacked them in front of the car. My mother’s voice came from behind me, the timber joining the symphony of crickets on the wind.
“We’re here.” She said quietly. “It’s time to get out.”
The gravel pullout was thin compared to the thick asphalt of highway 1 that lay before us. Every so often beams of light would spread around the corner, and a car would streak past us as we waited for the right moment.
As soon as all seemed quiet, we filled our arms with as much as we could hold and we raced across the street, searching the high trees and full bushes for our path. It was a hidden path that lay secretly in the bushes. At night it almost completely disappeared into the shadows. Like the green in the leaves and the browns on the trees, the path too became only a shade of grey, all the color seeping away into the darkness.
At last our hurried glances found the way to the pitch-black opening in the dark night, outlined sharply by the tall hedge separating the house from the road. Before another car could flash past we dived through to safety, stepping lightly across the berm onto the steep wooden stairs beyond the doorway into paradise.
Sometimes my foot would linger as I looked back at the whizzing cars, and then ahead to our dark wooden house, surrounded by dramatic vines and wide tropical leaves on every side. It was this berm that was the boundary between my bustling life in the city and my life in the country, full of long hikes and silence. My two lives seemed separated at the little line where the asphalt met the weeds. From the road, nothing of this place was visible, not even the mossy roof could be seen. From up there, just the road seemed to stretch forever. But down here, after descending the stairs, it was the neighboring ocean that claimed my eyes.

Break Is Never Soon Enough

I'm in photo again right now, that's why I'm able to write this. I can't wait for break, it's making me completely crazy. i feel like i could scream and take a bowl of chilled water and douse myself. or maybe taking a bag of marshmallows onto my roof to throwing them people below. i want to take hedge cutters and make some bush artistic... it would most likely come out blobish but i wouldn't care. i would trim in disguise, dressed in camouflage, and bush buzz at midnight. i want to drive to tilden and dive in indecently, swimming under moonlight... and then fight hypothermia, with the car heater on and shiver-sing while i wait for my joints to start working again. i feel like painting my mom's office splatter style, and with water balloons. I'm sure mom would appreciate some stylish decorating help. i feel like dyeing my hair teal, with pink streaks. i feel like howling at the moon and playing hide and seek in the woods. i feel like welding some great piece of modern art sculpture, even though i don't have a clue how. it should be all about swirls and mirrors and dice. i feel like taking a foghorn and hiding it on my street, so that i can watch and see what my neighbors do. i want to send a message in a bottle out to sea. i want to leave pin secret messages to my dad's cacti. that way they can "speak to him." if you talk to your plants they grow faster. most of all i want to climb a tree on a lazy afternoon and eat clementines.

Shhhh... Keep It Down

Yay! Congratulations to us! Today went very well I must say, with the SECRET SANTAS.

If you don't want to hear about my secret Santa, then read no further. Though, the people that read this blob either, a.) Don’t care, or b.) Know already, or c.) Don’t have a clue who I’m talking about.

Anyway, Pun and I slipped our gifts/cards to the third block teacher and told her to give them to our Santees. She was supposed to keep quiet about who dropped them off, of course. I gave candy as my small gift, and I have a sneaking suspicion that Zach just doesn't eat candy, or something. I mean I tried, right? What can you do when you just don't know someone very well? Asking them would just be dumb. It’s the thought that counts most. Or so people say when they just suck at present ideas. Hehe. Just kidding. I love anything that people get me because I know they tried and meant well. You know? Unless they give me half eaten socks.

I was thinking about giving Zach the present tied with "used" condoms and condom rappers... I dunno, don't ask. I wanted to make it all creepy with the taking candy from a stranger thing. Pun you were really smart... I totally gave myself away by writing my little note longhand. I should have pasted magazine letters together, or something. Then again, if I don't know Zach that well, maybe he won't recognize my handwriting. That’s the upside to not knowing your Santee.

Winter Wonderland...The Clock Is Ticking

I was late to school today, again. Only this time I have an excuse, but it’s better than an excuse; it’s an explanation. I never give excuses, I give valid, believable explanations… most of the time.

There was ice on my car, you see. It’s been so cold lately, so when I walked outside I noticed that all the car windows were covered with thick layers of ice. My mom had to come out and help me, since I have never had to scrape ice before. I’m sure it’s more or less pretty straight forward, I didn’t mind having some help. My mom demonstrated the proper scraping motion (she even said to use elbow-grease), and I scooped up the ice playfully threw it at her. That’s why I was late.

Gaskells!

At last my feet have swept across the ballroom floor of the Gaskells hall. I was so exhausted after a night of shopping… Tele is thriving, and very, very draining around the holiday time. I can’t believe I’ve been there twice this weekend, no three times! Though, today was only to get candy. Shush! *Puts finger to lips* don’t you go telling my secret Santee. Oblivious is best.

Despite my desire to slump onto my fluffy bed and rest, I knew that I would regret missing yet another ball. I keep hearing about them but I never get it together enough to actually go. Juju was with me and she was egger to see the scene, so we got ourselves together. We dug around in the basement for costume ideas, Juju pondered whether to go as a lady or a gentleman, and I began the fight with my hair. I though about being a gentleman, but decided against it for two reasons. First, I don’t have any gentlemanly clothing (except for a 60’s marching band jacket that dear Lilith lifted for me), and second, I like being a lady *wink*.

To make things easier on myself I wore my Halloween costume, which more or less fit the period of regency-1950. I think vampire fits in there somewhere. It was insane to try to fit my hoopskirt in the car, while I was wearing it. The whole ordeal was very unladylike, if I do say so myself :D In order for the hoop to fit I had to flip it up, exposing my stockings… and so on. Hehe. How did they do it, I wonder?

The moment I walked into the ballroom, I felt as though I had been transported back 100 years. The room was filled with spinning floolfy dresses and tailcoats, the colors as bright and layered as foreign candies.

I walked delicately through the crowd and noticed immediately the different use of language. People were saying things like, “how do you do?” and “very well.” Of course there were also people who were not trying very hard, like the guy by the punch who screwed up his face and said, “Need punch before insides implode!”

I hade a lovely time but found out quickly that about 75% of the participants are creepy old men. I danced the something-something with a creepy guy, but he worked there and was teaching me, so it was okay. He was a good leader, and I’m thankful because in that dance I might have come to my death through trampeling. Well the guys weren’t so bad, it’s more like I’m not used to people being so formal and polite. I even wondered to myself, what’s wrong with all these people? Why do they come here so much? But it was great, some people really love tradition and forality. Most of the time if someone would ask, “may I have this dance?” I would reply in a squeaky voice, “um…well I need some punch actually,” or “no, I can’t dance,” or “actually I’m married, sorry.” Lilith even made a ring for me so that we could be “married,” though that was unbelievable for several reasons. *Giggle* Guys would actually get up and offer their seat, and if you were standing alone they would ask if you needed to be escorted somewhere. It was creepy, and sweet, and very sexist in the best sense of the word. So I found that to have a really good time, you might want to bring a non-creepy date with you :)

I loved waltzing, though I still don’t understand it completely, and I haven’t gotten past the stage of needing to stare at my feet (I couldn’t see my feet under my hoop). It’s scary on the dance floor, as the leader must avoid collisions. Lilith, you did fairly well, I’m proud of you, indeed.

The Ants Go Marching On

Ewww! I hate ants!

Every year the air gets cold, the ground gets wet, and the ants decide to make the journey to the warm and cozy winter home…my home!

Every year I forget that this happens, but every year I am reminded of the horrors of the ant processions. They eat my soap, they make merry in my marshmallows, and they have disco dance parties on my toes. It’s a nightmare!

I’ve tried to reason with them, explaining to the ones by the back door that I would leave a cup of lovely honey outside for them if they promised to find residence in someone else’s house. What greedy creatures they are, and liars too!

They swarm the honey, continue playing follow the leader through my bedroom, and in addition invite themselves into my neighbor’s homes.

Either ants are extremely selfish and demanding, or they just can’t negotiate in plain English. Maybe both.

They are supposed to keep the earth clean by decomposing and renewing. Well, my house is “clean” enough without those ants—thank you very much—and I really don’t need any help decomposing my soap.

Away with you ants! This is war!

Psychiatric Christmas Carols

1. Schizophrenia — Do You Hear What I Hear?

2. Multiple Personality Disorder — We Three Kings Disoriented Are

3. Dementia — I Think I’ll be Home for Christmas

4. Narcissistic — Hark the Herald Angels Sing About Me

5. Manic — Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and Streets and Stores and Office and Town and Cars and Buses and Trucks and Trees and . . ……

6. Paranoid — Santa Claus is Coming to Town to Get Me

7. Borderline Personality Disorder — Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire

8. Personality Disorder — You Better Watch Out, I’m Gonna Cry, I’m Gonna Pout, Maybe I’ll Tell You Why

9. Attention Deficit Disorder — Silent night, Holy oooh look at the froggy - can I have a chocolate, why is Saskatchewan so far away?

10. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder –Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle,Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle …….

Triggers

After I wrote my last blog I fell asleep. *gasp* in fact I actually wrote the blog while I was half asleep.

Anyway, I fell asleep, right? And I had a dream, you see. But when I woke up I felt it drift away into nothing. I knew I had a dream though, just not what happened in it.

I scanned my blog absently, including the entry Some Mischief Done. For some reason after reading the line, “yes, we are alone,” my dream washed over me in a split second. The whole thing came back just like that, just from reading that line. It must have been a trigger of some sort, and I wonder what would have become of my dream, had I not read that poem. Would it have disappeared forever? Maybe I was meant to remember this dream, so even if I didn’t get a trigger from my blog, perhaps I would have gotten one from somewhere else.

Ahh, Just Kidding...

Dear ____________ College,

The following are the reasons why ____________ College is the college for me. Please just fill in the appropriate college name on the blank.

1.) After googling ___________ College, I was very pleased to find that the homepage was very colorful and well kept. A very inspiring song played in the background as I looked at pictures of the campus. I like pictures.

2.) I had a chance to visit ____________ College and found the campus atmosphere to be very friendly. Someone from the school—a squirrel actually—was kind enough to sit next to me on one of the benches. It was very thoughtful and offered to give me the bubonic plague.

3.) The classes at ____________ College are outwardly delightful. After sitting in on a poetry class, I found that they are also quite restful. According to some of the attending students, the most desired spot to be is behind the trashcan, next to the door, where there is even enough space to lie down.

4.) ____________ College has lovely Rodin Sculpture. A college with tasteful lawn ornaments must be good.

5.) ____________ College has a tightly knit community. The dorm size is cozy enough to bring roommates together. On top of one another, as a matter of fact.

6.) The ____________ College teachers are so young and inexperienced that they blend right into their own classes, making the student-teacher relationship very strong. Both student and teacher must work together to make any sense of the material.

7.) ____________ College is strong enough academically to bless its students with flattering nervous habits such as nail biting, hair twisting, fidgeting, flogging, incessant finger tapping, and twitching.

8.) The student body at ____________ College is kept at a reasonable number. The avid bikers around the campus successfully weed out the weak ones.

9.) The food offered at ____________ College is in-edible and insures that the local restaurants will be supported.

10.) I have heard good things from ____________ College graduates. My neighbor decided to attend after watching an attractive student go for a jog. Time well spent, indeed.

g..y..m?

I went to the gym earlier, hah! It’s been quite a while since I went… but for some reason… my PE log is just as normal as can be, with continuous entries… and no holes whatsoever. I wonder how that could have happened… *grins wide, while trying to smother it discreetly*

The gym is such a funny place, now that I think about it. People bounce up and down, huffing and puffing…in the same spot. They run and don’t move, they climb steps that don’t lead anywhere, they ride bicycles that can’t steer, and they row with no boat. It’s odd really, un-natural even. But I’m getting stronger, with something new called stamina:) I had stamina before, but not really. I mean sitting in class all day is hardly aerobic.

Drip

I’m sitting on my front windowsill, with my feet outside pressed tentatively against the chilly shingles of the overhanging roof. If this sounds like a feat (hehe), it isn’t… you see I have a garage underneath me, which has a roof of its own, not the “roof” roof…that is about 12 feet (hehe) above me. The garage protrudes farther than the windows, and so, there is a place to rest my toes.

It’s my favorite time of day: twilight. Darker than what I mentioned yesterday, yet with even thicker fog. It is completely eerie, with the horizon tinted red with the now faint glare of the sunset. Twilight is a time of tricks and mischief, of wonders and surprises, of adventurous love and Charles Dickens. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure why Mr. Dickens… it must be because I’m thinking about the Dickens’s Faire.

Lilith, it’s really funny what your mummy did last year, when you all had tea with “Charles.” I think your mom asked him what he was writing next, and he drew a blank. I guess is threw him for a loop. *Giggle* you should ask that again this year and see if he has practiced in front of a mirror or not. Maybe they got a new one who thinks more quickly on his feet (hehe). For some reason I feel like laughing every time I have to mention feet (hehe).

This desolate hill country!
He distrusted it
This hill or this petering-out path before
But it did not hold
Some mischief had been done him
Dreamily, with his mouth open
He looked at her shoes
A guide, to a chair with a yellow cowhide seat
Inside the darkness of the house touched him
“Yes, we are alone.”
The pulse in his palm leapt
His eyes stiffly wide
Sunlight touched the furthest pot on the hearth
But instead of getting up
He listened
To a silent declaration equivalent to his own
He found himself repeating quietly
“There will be special reduced prices on all footwear.”
But emotions swelled patiently within him.
It felt too heavy on his shoulders
His twisted innards lead him
Pulse pounding orders at his temples
Screeching wheels sounded in the shameful getaway
This desolate hill country!

Yay

Well, that was a pain in the ass. I don't have a google account, and it decided to be irritating and not let me make one because my passwords didn't match and then I forgot to reinput my security question and then I forgot to type the strangely shaped letters into the box. Well, now I have Beta anyways, although it really wasn't worth all that trouble, but then again I would have eventually had to switch anyways because they're gonna make it mandatory at some point so I got it over with. I do hope it doesn't get confusing though.
Oh, and by the way, this isn't actually Integrity's post, Kiele wrote it, but from the POV of Integrity so it's about the same thing.
Cheers!

Raindrops As Intricate As Snowflakes

My gosh! It’s so lovely outside right now, with the rain and the fog looking very much like a winter wonderland. I’m sitting on my vent again, gazing longingly out through my front windows. I would love to be dashing about in the mist right now, but I have to wait here… Gordy’s coming, you see, and I mustn’t make him wait. It’s cold and rainy, as it is, and I’m sure he wouldn’t enjoy being left to stand at my door, while I frolic in the puddles. Then again, he would probably be smarter than to wait like a wet cat on the doormat. Do I have doormat? I forget. Most likely he would wait in his vehicle, listening to NPR. The tree across the street looks ghostly… there is hardly any color in its branches. It’s so regal and majestic from here… just a swash of grey through the thick, fogy air.

What A World...Mostly Wonderful

Why do people act differently in and out of school? At times I notice this in others, and in myself. I mean it makes sense really… the whole idea of being social at school is kind of wack. To socialize in a mere 40 minutes, with a minimum of 10 conversations going on simultaneously, to speak meaningfully with someone in the halls, while at a run to the next class…it’s preposterous. You almost have to have a separate self for school and for out of school relationships, whether they are romantic or friendly. It’s cute in a way, the kind of rush to be real. To be genuine is essential… we all have to push the frenzy out of our minds and be with each other—really be there in the moment. I couldn’t live without weekends! For one thing I need the sleep, and also for the chance to be with people in the context of real life. Not that school isn’t part of life, it’s just a different world…

I find it interesting all the “friends” people have at school, people that after pushing aside the casual talks and greetings really are more like acquaintances. I feel sad almost when I realize that there is just not enough time to know everyone. And yet, the time that I do have, I am glad to spend it with those I feel close to, my friends through thick and thin, in sickness and in health.

I am a Taurus and with that comes a desire to have really close friends around me, and less acquaintances. I need to be real, in the moment, laughing, deep, exuberant, open, loving, curious, and quirky. I reach out to the people that I want to be right there with me… or me with them.

I don’t say it enough, but the people around me, the people I feel close to, the people I want to get closer to… I feel so fortunate, so warm, and so thrilled to be with you. I love every minute.

I'm even happy to have Freddy The Poltergeist, just stop taking my socks already!

Lazy Mornings

I just lit a kerosene lamp. I love real firelight, it's so soothing and make me feel like a Victorian lady. I can see that lovely flame dancing and throwing shadows on my purple walls. Even though it’s bright outside, my curtains are heavy enough to give me a shady sanctuary. It’s not that I don’t like the sun. I love the sun! It’s just that I woke up, what seems like mere moments ago... my eyes are still adjusting.

Part of me, the mindful part feels like a Victorian lady, but my physical self is nice and warm in the real world, sitting on my vent. That’s right, my vent. The warm rush of heat is surrounding me right now, and the metal guarding feels just right. It’s not cold like it is when I just turn it on, and it doesn’t burn like it’s been on for hours. It is however doing that chilly air thing, so I know it is about to turn off in a few moments. *Tear*

I feel so silly because I’m trying to touch type this whole thing. Yan inspired me to learn… he’s an insane maniac on the keyboard. I wonder if being a good piano player makes it easier to type… my mom loves the piano, and she can type like a medium maniac. I’m so funny when I type normally because some words I just pick out, and others I have a system for… Like my name. I have a system for that word. And it actually uses the same fingers that I would use if I were touch-typing. I’m close but I have to break some habits first. Like the fact that my fingers need to get along and sign a treaty or something… they both are fighting to cross over to the opposite hand’s keys and steal those letters. Naughty fingers.

Lilith, I just called your house but you weren’t there. How sad. I had this whole thing that I wanted to do. We would go to Tele and we would take the 7, but we would make sure to get on at different stops. Who ever got on first would go to the back and start reading, or look busy. Who ever got on second would slowly walk down the isle, making it as if they weren’t expecting the other. Then we would notice eachother, and go into a whole thing about how it’s been years, and what a coincidence it was, and how we never expected to see each other after so-and-so happened. I so feel like a random roll play right now.

Is This A Normal Parenting Thing?

My mom's favorite mental illness of choice is...

*DING DING DING*

---hebrephrenia

Cops!

I had such a fright today!

The past two days I have had some rather stupid, and yet shocking experiences driving. At one point I just got so pissed off waiting to get onto Marin… and I so I drove out and blocked traffic to make the cars stop for me. I was waiting for almost 10 min, so what else was I supposed to do? Some times if I need to get something done, I have to be aggressive. Grrr….

The second thing was just stupid on my part. I forgot that there wasn’t a stop sign for the oncoming traffic, and I pulled out. No problem because I have reflexes like a cat (or I should hope), but it was scary anyway. I think I did it because I drive that way EVERY DAY. I should never anticipate anything. Especially traffic, even if I drive that way all the time.

But that’s not even the scary thing. There was this cop behind me the other day, he kept turning where I turned, all the way to my house. I pulled over to back up into a spot and the cop pulled up behind me. My heart jumped to my throat as I heard his car door slam.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no,” I though “my first brush with the law. I haven’t even done anything wrong this time.”

But the cop just walked past me.

“Few,” I melted into my seat.

Then I realized, that the cop took my spot! I was going to pull into it, he took it, and walked off!

The Path Of Life

It just occurred to me… have you ever noticed how many path/road metaphors and proverbs there are?

Like “when you come to a fork in the road,” or “sometimes the road is bumpy,” or “the road to hell is paved with good intensions,” or “all roads lead to Rome.”

Well I have a new one. It’s probably not new, because nothing is really. Every little thing has its origins somewhere else, somewhere deeper, somewhere much earlier. Origins could be from childhood, an old Celtic myth, or even from Herald the hermit who lives in Canada. I just suddenly feel like writing about that path.

It’s easiest just to move along, and not look back. Hmm, actually the easiest thing is probably just to lie down in the dusty road. For me, the horizon silently swallows up the path behind me, unless I do something about it. I have to pay attention to my surroundings, my emotions, and my past.

Always remember the turns you have made, where you stumbled, who you met along the way, and which paths crossed with yours… that in turn will help you find out where you are. By remembering, you can go further. Remember the good and the painful.

You can never know where you are going or what the future is going to bring. You can be more prepared, though. You can accept, enjoy, and recognize the things in front of you that are really something special, something beautiful, if you have seen what has come in the past. If you don’t pay attention, you can miss a moment, and let it go by, not notice it, not think about it, because you weren’t paying attention.

History repeats itself, right? So by remembering more deliberately, you can find your path, rather than having the horizon behind you swallow it up. If you let it get swallowed up, you lose it.

I don’t look too far ahead, but I watch, and listen, and remember. I remember where I came from… and I keep walking to learn why.

Puny Fun

Juju’s going to smack me up-side-da-head if I don’t post today so hey, here I am.

It was great though. Guess who was in my pants again… That right, Pun was. Again you might ask? Well yes, the first was at Yan’s sleepover. It was great because that time we switched pants. I was swimming in his, and he was stuck in mine. Amazingly he can fit into them. Very tightly, I might add. With the tight shirt and fishnet gloves he looked almost emo. Pun just needs some black hair to complete the look…. Hehe, I just went to a very scary mental place. An emo Pun… that’s shocking, and a little disturbing. I think Yan would be better suited to being emo. He could be dark and brooding ☺ and the hair works well. He’d just need it to do “that flippy thing.”

Why don’t guys wear tight pants? Right, it’s more comfortable to sag. Right. But! But! The Butt! Girls are always showing off, and the guys get the baggy. Well then again… sometimes it’s more attractive to be hinting, rather than have it right out in the open. That’s why we don’t wear saran wrap… well, that and it doesn’t breath.

Why am I talking about this? I’m not sure. Why am I also talking to myself? I guess it’s because it’s so late. But really it’s early. Oh.

Yeah, I have a correction. When it’s late I get jumbled and spootsy. I get deep when I get up in the morning, after I’ve been sleeping. It’s when I am half awake, that I’m deep. Like this big, *stretches hand apart*

That’s right. Goodnight.