La verdad:

"...Aun cuando ama la poesia, el cielo no le dio la gracia de ser poeta."

Awesome word:

cybersquatting.

All I really wanted to do tonight was write.

I find it a bit awkward to do so. It's a bit too much wear my heart on your sleeve with far less answers. At least the bands who sing such lyrics receive cheers.

Even in a house like this, the night ended quickly tonight. I might be the only one left awake, and I'll turn in soon enough.

But I can be here -- myself, my work-in-progress room, my work-in-progress life -- and not be ashamed of the company.

tense change

She noticed later that red stained the gray sweatshirt. The tribulations of hair dye.

The advice came across the cheap Formica table. "You do too much work." Perhaps. "Drink while doing laundry. It's a great time." Hmm. Especially if you don't need to go to college to be a writer.

"Did you dye your hair?" Dunkin Donuts lighting is most certainly unforgiving.

She plays with the still-damp bangs and wonders what else she can begin to get away with.

"Your earrings are like...sorcery."

Well, perhaps not, but she'll work on making her writing such.

The Nasty Life

Gary: "...So I reacted as I usually do."
Angela and I in unison: "Very calmly and rationally?"

Me: "I'm going to the bathroom. Let me know if he says anything about Mayans."
Moments later:
Amber: "He just said that the plot is thickening. You'd better get out, Diana."

After reading out loud my away message:
Amber: "I am nervous! Estoy nerviosa! ... I think something's wrong with me."



And the people we become, well,
they're never really the people who we are.

I think it may be time to realize that this is not going to be the way I want it to be.

I like this:

"In my opinion, karma will be a bigger bitch than I'd ever be."

Hey, baby, is that you? Wow, your hair got so long...

Between last year and now, the clash has become more evident: that I feel like a different person in both places.

The energy remains the same. But not always the outlook and attitude. What changes most is the reality. I don't know which one will last, or which one I want to.

--

But I do know that 1) Christina is fantastic for sending me multitudes of songs, and that despite trees being chopped at 7 a.m., 74 Lincoln = Can't touch this!

Well, it's the last day of August

and I've only changed my schedule once.

And written an "experimental piece" in about an hour (muchas gracias, Pablo Murray).

And felt that life was full, and constantly moving, not passive.

And named our wireless network, "Can't touch this."

And twisted on my own as if it were nothing.

And been happy. Am happy. Still so, in fact.

And known that I need to keep moving, living, writing, learning, before I can plant myself down in one place.

A little:

sick, nervous, stressed, sad, excited, confident, and yet a good part satisfied.

It's that time, of course, to write a letter.

It is cold.

It is cold.

The rain strikes closed eyes, pricks the skin, but captures the trees in green.

It is time, the tired wind says. Time to see flurries on light gray days. Time to miss you like end-of-day sunshine, so simple and beautiful.

Phoenix

I like to check off the skills I've done and the body parts I've hurt.

Then I do those skills again. And again.

By choice.

He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
--W.B. Yeats--

The feeling's mutual.

Isn't it lovely to realize that the people you stalk on occasion stalk you back?

We're just too damn curious, all of us.

The next pool party

Of course I think I ate too many s'mores, but it was just a right kind of night -- friends around the fire pit, laughing as the night dries us after a failed game of "Marco Polo," together without pressure or pause, a Long Island night.

Hair

I measured my loose ponytail on Saturday and found that it reached the requisite ten inches.

"Should I donate my hair now?" I asked my parents.

My mom looked at me. "...It's up to you."

"It'll grow back," my dad reasoned.

Confidence.

556

"You cannot love God but hate your neighbor."

If today you hear God's voice, /
harden not your heart.

Confession/Want/Dreams

I really enjoy Timbaland's "The Way I Are."

..

I want to:
-travel
-write creatively
-write professionally
-learn
-teach
-work with children
-stay free
-stay healthy
-stay involved with gymnastics
-be qualified to do anything I fancy
-get married. stay married. and love.
-afford to live wherever I find myself
-raise children that don't frustrate me.
-change the world, somebody's world, in a good way
-be remembered
-finally, maybe, be satisfied with this life

..

Forget dreams, something said. You're too scared to leave.

I don't think so, I answered.

..
Which I'd almost forgotten...

Lift my days,
light up my nights

"You know what makes me happy?

You'll think it's really random and dorky."

"What?"

"The fact that you're doing fulls again."

Aww, Meghan! :-)

Sound Road

Sometimes I raise my hand outside of the rolled-down window. I do not signal. I do not wave.

I feel the air, let my fingers run through it,

then take the wheel again.

I will sit and earn the ransom from up here

The day: long grass, hot sun, port-a-potties that don't flush (which should be outlawed), Sudoku, the Hobbit, sleeping, parks near the Interstate, old friends, riding deer, fired up and letting up.

I know it will all turn for the best eventually, but I am wistful right now.

Then again, it hasn't ended. And as I watch, I am convinced, I tell myself, I make myself believe, that now there is no pain.

The other

As I sat on a rock after my swim, I considered telling the little girl and her grandfather to not be afraid of the water. I’ve lived here most of my mortal life, I’d say.

They would reply, And what about the other one?

Steady.

I feel good. I feel strong.

I land on floor without a twinge or shock of a stressed ligament. I raise my arms above my head, as I should. And I walk away, lightly, ready for the next turn.

Even the storms were not much of anything the other night. Flashes out the window. Pouring rain outside of open windows. But after some Wii golf, the rain slackened, losing interest, leaving us alone with steam rising off of the streets.

An innovative use for a Spanish degree:

Translating Carissa's text messages from her boyfriend.

Of the best ones

I watch her spin around
in her highest heels
You are the best one
of the best ones

-Dashboard Confessional

Reflections on 7-11

Even though I feel the urge to work my abs, the past two nights have been highly enjoyable -- plotted yet spontaneous enough to keep me moving.

I love my friends. I love to dance. Let's think about that one.

Ah! Let's raise to not thinking.

It was supposed to be one of the hottest days yet.

I stepped outside of the air-conditioned office. My car is not unbearably stuffy and the wind carries the sun. The cheetah sunglasses keep me from squinting and I realize that commercials, not music, are playing.

But I am happy. I am good at what I do.

I feel like it is the beginning of June, that things are just starting to happen, or should be doing so.

I watch her spin around in her highest heels

There's a bit of a disjoint as we sit and chat about those things that some of us went to and others weren't invited to, hint around at the things that some of us know and others pretend not to, try to joke and prevent anything from being too obviously wrong.

I find myself bored in those times that are supposed to be "fun" and especially entertained when "fun" just happens. Sure, I'd like to rock out as much as the next person. But "the next person" isn't who I'd want to be with.

But tonight I raised my water and knew that if it were liquor, this would be just right.

But I did dream

that Lena, Natalie, and I were all attending grad school at MIT. Oh, my.

I don't know;

it's just
a weird sort of disjointed day where you know it's bad news on the phone but that you need to have your Cheerio's or you'll regret it later. You've woken up from a night of roaming the beach with a flashlight as a fourteen-year-old boy sings that you're a pirate. You have greasy pizza for lunch and find out that you've got a four-day weekend. It's raining on the Fourth of July and you think that it's fitting because you don't want to celebrate. Little boys whistle as you run down the block. You run down to the beach, but there are too many cars disturbing your peace. Silly people so overly-enthused. You dance in the kitchen because you cannot wait to do gymnastics. "I'm all right," you answer. Your skills in Mario Tennis have improved. "Goodnight, I love you!" the boy says from his sheet cocoon, already falling asleep in his pillow.

You know that it will not be a good two, or many, days.

Meditations.

Driving fast, all right. But I'm impressed by people who can get in their cars quickly. "See ya later!" they say as they find their keys. Then bam, they're out of the parking lot.

How do they do it?

Afterparty

As we walk down the stairs, Kelsey turns to me and whispers, "The balloon is musical."

Every little thing she does is magic.

Old and fun. :-)

In the end

it's me driving myself.

I frighten myself, I berate myself, but in the end, it's me calming myself.

Go on. Go on.

Second chance

Back turned, he leans into the refrigerator. The walls peel the way they always have, slowly. His jeans fit the same way -- too big.

"Do you want a drink or something?" he offers.

Or something, you think. I'll take one of those.

-Why does everyone have to die?

-If nobody died, you wouldn't be here. There'd be too many people. The extras would happen accidentally. Unhappily.

-Maybe.

A sea change

If someone had described it to me in other terms, I probably would have been more interested much earlier. "It's like getting paid to stalk and then write about it."

I may indeed change my mind, as we young people are apt to do. But something real is happening. I have something that will be shaped and cultivated and challenged, but it is something existing, fundamental, ready.

I posted the picture to say, "I am not that girl any longer." But then I pause. Of course I am. And then some.

While talking to Christina and Regina

I miss my life there right now.

I know what I want. I know who I want with me.

Sense of menace

is my new idea for a theme/direction of the Honors Thesis...since I've done, of course, so much work on it already.

Also, GRE = over with = fantastic = relief that I didn't devote my life to studying hefty amounts of information that would most likely not show up on the test.

The sun came out, suprisingly enough.

Forty-seven words

A pale figure runs from the reeds of the marsh, across the road, and up the hill into thick trees. White against night.

-Did you see that? I ask.

He shrugs, turning the car around the corner. –It’s just a ghost.

Behind us, a phantom quietly dies.

GRE Preparation

I decided to see what I was up against whilst I relearned standard deviation and probability, and thus swung onto the FAQ's.

"At the start of the test, you are presented with test questions of middle difficulty. As you answer each question, the computer scores it and uses that information, as well as your responses to preceding questions and information about the test design, to determine the next question. As long as you answer correctly, you will typically be given questions of increased difficulty. When you respond incorrectly, you will typically be given less difficult questions." -- gre.org

So when my questions become, "y = 3x. x=1. Solve for y," I'll know that I'm doing really well.

I like your style, GRE. Until, of course, I take you and get my scores back.

Helicopter lights and bad dreams

What happened to the happy news?

What creature...slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Tedium

I drive home, mindful of deer and police cars, and suddenly remember that I had been gray before. A fitful, tiring gray.

I had forgotten because the gym is a safe place. Writing, too, is a safe place, until it is shown to others beyond my friends and oftentimes classmates.

I tell myself that I tried, am trying now. I am looking everywhere and not hearing a sound.

But maybe I have no reason to mope. It may have been too easy for me up until now.

After all, you're cleared to run.

Big doings in life:

-Cleared to run today! "If you can run two miles without it hurting, then you're healed." I'm sure a few roundoff-back handsprings will also be essential to the final stretch of the healing process...

-Watched movies recently (clearly, I'm a new woman)

-Traveled to Cortland, encountering additional thunderstorms and witnessing (somewhat, when Mom and I weren't busy laughing at people) my dad make his comeback from Pileup Menace to Cycling Champ.

-Reunited with several fantastic former teammates from Spins

-Got a real job (just kidding...that will take quite some time, if ever) (working on it, however)

-Showed the world what Wading River's all about ("world" = non-viral link = click that bad boy)

-Finished a story

"Good deal, Gallagher," as Mr. K would say.

"If Angela was here,"

I tell Brian as we wait for a car to pass us before we walk across the road, "we would have made a run for it." Of course, I've had a bit to drink, which makes the idea even more appealing.

I imagine the Bri standing on the curb, shaking his head, as Angela and I take off over the asphalt. An SUV approaches. Indifferent, Angela's new ACL and my leisurely-healing metatarsal would scamper joyfully through the night, almost as if Pontillo's awaited us down the darkened roads. We would likely begin to giggle loudly and make a Facebook-related comment, or perhaps even a Ross Borden reference to "innate curiosity." The night would be officially concluded only after we'd checked each other's away messages prior to sleep.

As I check Angela's away message now from where she rests in the 845, I raise my Poland Spring to August 25th, to the beauty of receiving "offline" messages, and to Cortland's floor.

Only my father

would cause a bicycle accident on North Country Road that I happened to pass by on my way to the gym.

I cause a scene by envisioning (out loud) a volcanic Bald Hill, flapping my arms in a pre-historic-bird-fashion (nods to Brittany), discussing rumors of pregnancy by homeless men and "bringing one's A-game" with my lovely Seven, and dancing to no music, without any reason at all. All following each other in quick succession.

I suppose it's not so strange, really. But someone has to catch the attention of those who have been treading slowly for too long.

2:14

I think I am ready to write.

If she had indeed

named me Jennifer, I would have certainly spelled "Jenn" with two "n's." Or "Britt" with two "t's," etc.

But when I read the occasional mispelled "Dianna" that is meant for me, I think to myself, "Oh, no, now that's excessive."

12:50am on Route 25A

At the red light, a silver car slides up next to me on the left. Slowly. Slipping against the dashed line. I stare ahead, wondering if the driver is looking at me.

At the green light, the car turns on the speed -- the way I knew it would -- and flashes a quick signal before coasting ahead of me.

I have the feeling that I've been brushed against, a little too nearly, and that a smirk was tossed before he moved on.

So much water so close to home

Falling, cascading, hurtling, everywhere. If I pause quickly in just the right place, will I find myself dry, protected by a ring like bullets, like beads, like rain?

Elementary school and on

They always thought that you were serious and I was laughing.






They didn't know that you were the one who was making me laugh.

Post-trauma

The sky is sunny, but I swear I hear thunder.

A terrible beauty is born

The moon hangs red tonight.

"Was that -?"

"Yes." One flash of lightning and then another.

We stand together on the sidewalk and look up at the sky. Sizzling purple. Horizontal slashes. Angry scrawls on a recently passive sky.

But somehow this electric canopy inspires your confession of fears. "I have the feeling that something is going to go wrong," you say in the car. Large droplets hit the windshield. "Here. In the world. Everywhere."

I wave to friends in the next lane, grins pressed against the glass as they sign to us.

"I wonder if I'm missing a warning," I answer.

Under the roof of a well-lit house, she smiles at his concern. "Let's turn the lights off," she replies. She is calm, gently mocking when the lights no longer turn back on and explosions from the sky shatter the night. "If it's the apocalypse, at least we're all together. If it's the rapture, we won't have time to worry, anyway." Comfortable by candlelight, she stretches on the sofa. She understands religion.

I do not recognize the allusion and feel that I should. I hear "together" and think of my mother, who sits quietly on the same corner of the couch, worrying.

A sudden ricochet from the retreating storm. We are not so potent as we believe ourselves to be.

Later, cars slice through puddles and pass on, indifferent. The lights of stores and traffic gleam as always.

The moon hangs red, dripping from a violent birth.

Glances of mortality

My goodness, I cannot thank you enough.

Implicit

"You!" she says.

"Me," I admit.

Cohesion of scenes

A white figure runs from the marsh, across the road, and up the hill into the woods.

"Oh, my God, that was so awkward!" she exclaims in a low voice, gripping my arm. "I mean, really, WHY?"

Well, you don't answer your phone.

"I wouldn't tell you this if I didn't give a shit!" he shouts.

The flowers, petite and pink, stand brilliantly against the green. How had I failed to notice all of these years?

"It's not that exciting." Then she leans back in the booth and considers. "Well. Sometimes."

"You can't not say it back. That's just the end of the relationship right there!" He doesn't see "You have nice teeth" as an acceptable response to "I love you."

I want to listen, but I close my door instead.

The nights are getting warmer

and I hope the stone settled in your mind will be eroded by gentle, ceaseless waves.

Just what you want to hear:

A consensus at the strap bar produced some of our favorite responses:

"You wouldn't understand."

"You don't understand."

"You don't even know!"

Money

I never thought much about money until I realized that I was supposed to. Like weight, it narrowed people's eyes and added a wistful tone to their voices. Someday, they said. I have to.

They see money as items, as stackable boxes that will barricade them from the wilderness.

I see money as places, as gas, as the transition between here and movement.

The simple life

"Stick it in!"

"Diana just had a flashback."

"Remember, ping-pong is harder than cheerleading."

Sun by day, laughter in the gym, friends and love at night.

Somehow I rarely have too little to do. Somehow I am not at all self-conscious when I stand with these friends.

Perhaps it will somehow work out that I will always prefer to be where I am.

Dancing

Do I want to write my fictions or do I want to play in them? Or both?

A revolution without dancing is a revolution not worth having.

And then I wonder,

why must I be so silly?

My foot tingles.

The computer hums.

The movie plays on.

I love you, you say.

Finally.

I have missed your smile.

A P.S. so I don't forget:

Dear Emeline:

My friends truly enjoyed the video of your Africana dance performance on my camera. But not as much as I enjoyed the live version. :-D

Much love,
your future date at Hairy Tony's

She does.

I am a bit more confident when I come back here. So it has gone for the past year.

I got it. Thanks.

And you watch and think, She does.

Last night in Cortland

Fitting.

The best moment of today:

Beautiful views, ceaseless water, twisting rocks, slices of sunlight and gold-green fields.

But my favorite moment just might have been watching Laurel burst into the running man -- and keep it up -- as I fumbled for my ringing cell phone outside of the library.

:)

I would like to return home feeling more prepared. More complete.

To Do, in red ink

"...Clean kitchen, sweep floor, find out what's in 'Surfer on Acid'..."

Re:

Prayers on X-ray tables do not work.

But I can wear TWO shoes now. Regular shoes. How about that?

We stay sane through these tiny compromises that we have to make.

The night

disconnects me. The only things that feel right are shoes on pavement, legs flexing and straightening, and stars overhead. I am moving. I am moving.

::waves::

HI, LEENES!

Angles

My eyes burn. I step outside into cool night air. The smoke from downstairs is subdued and the laughter calming from drunkenness to tiredness.

I want to smudge my eyes with dark eyeliner and look at you behind masked and falsely thick lashes.

The wooden seat creaks and I'm too tired to wonder how many people have sat in it before. We are at the perfect height up here, I realize as I look at the lights of apartment houses and passing cars. We can witness it all without needing to step down. My perfect height.

I type in small windows so I can see what is going on.

There is a light in your window, I know.

I would like someone to come around the corner and up this shadowy road. I would like them to wave to me. Call my name. Sit up here with me for awhile, in silence.

I don't need to be amazing. I've done enough work. I would like to be amazed right now. I would like to be engaged, fascinated. I want to do the kind of work someday that makes me eager to be where I am with who is there. Is it too much to want that now?

The traffic light flashes red and yellow.

I type in small windows to remind myself of perspective.

It is time to sleep, I tell myself, and go into bed, but not to bed.

I want to walk down the road and around the corner.

Camera One closes in

You're playing you now

Like Diana walking into the middle of a Shakespearean drama.

Isn't it amazing how much everyone is internalizing?
Perhaps we'd all feel better if we just admitted it.

With Martial Vigor

"Philosophy"

If I should labor through daylight and dark,
Consecrate, valorous, serious, true,
Then on the world I may blazon my mark;
And what if I don’t, and what if I do?


"I just wanna go into a frenzy. I really wanna hurt someone. Like God honestly knock someone's teeth out."
Brittany falls into the TV.
Deep blues, greens, and gold.
For Semra, I wrote.
Jeremy's spoken.

"Resume"
Razors pain you; / River are damp; / Acids stain you; / And drugs cause cramp. / Guns aren't lawful; / nooses give; Gas smells awful; / You might as well live.


R.I.P. :-(

Causing the scene

I painted over the writing on the wall.

-What do you want?
-All of you?

Looking at the map

of where I am right now is enough to give me vertigo.

2:24pm

The last half-hour is always the longest.

"Andrea, will my foot ever get better?"

"That's going on 'Word is Bond!'"

Well, now it's here, Angie Baby!

Clearly, back handsprings are a surefire method of recovery. Perhaps Emeline can write her Honors thesis on their miraculous healing powers, akin to holistic therapy. My Honors thesis, meanwhile, will likely be a story that goes on for a long while with something happening here and there, that Kelsey and I will find funny but will only prompt an occasional half-smile out of everyone else. Like, you know, life.

Anna Molly

Fate
or something better
I could care less
Just stay with me for awhile

Things I held sacred/that I dropped

((Clever line, Audioslave.))

I'd forgotten how I enjoyed speaking in a semi-seductive voice over the radio, somehow knowing what song should follow the next. I am always two tracks ahead.

I'd forgotten that I enjoyed portraying someone else, or an extension of myself, for an audience. I like the instant gratification; I love to make you laugh.

Why the heck

am I enjoying myself and not feeling overwhelmed???

Note to self: Add Indiana Jones to list of movies.

Now, if we could get this metatarsal to heal in an efficient manner, then heck, I'd feel unstoppable. :-)

The lights are off in the house. Someone could come out from this silent darkness and nobody would ever hear besides the three of us: Someone, the Raker, and me.

Vulnerable

Is
standing in the
middle of the street,
playing basketball,
four foot five,
with long
girlish locks
blocking your
vision.

1996 Compulsories

"I'd like Gary to say that to me," Brittany muses.

"Say what?" I ask, looking up from painting my nails a Vixen shade of red.

"That he'll always protect me."

Sometimes:

I smile,
nod,
and wonder,
Why the hell
are you
telling
me
this?

It gets hard.

I mean, what the heck do we know, anyway?

Easter Sunday, pondering "fanaticism" a.k.a. "fundamentalism"

Zero degrees Kelvin. The event horizon. +1 + -1 = O.

Nothing.

You know you're a nerd

when you post on WebCT at 1am. And you're not behind on the assignment.

Empathy?

Either way I look at it, I'll never have exactly what I want.

And perhaps we're not supposed to.

I would like to drive fast with the music playing loudly, the lyrics telling me what I should do and feel. And then I would return and write and be applauded.

So fun!

Seriously, who am I?

"Evidently those gynecologist appointments go like hot cakes."

To my faithful and fearless fellow obsesser-over-gymnastics, radio station frolicker, floor runner-arounder, stationary bicycle racer, rehab champion, and PARTNER 4 LIFE:

GOOD LUCK! If there's any pain, just take an Advil. You'll be fine in the morning. It never happened. ;-)

I picked red grapes and wondered,

Are "safe" and "sane" synonymous?

Some girls

stake their territory by robbing their boyfriend's wardrobe. Large T-shirts, baseball sweatshirts, sweatpants, even boxers are looted for their own. I have a boyfriend, the battered T-shirt proclaims when it is worn on a female body. It turns her shapeless. Is that what she wants?

I, on the other hand, have my boyfriend's sock. Singular. Comfortable and clean. I do not need to brandish it as proof of my conquest.

It can't be thundering, I think as I sleep.

Then comes the sound I have not heard in a long while: rain bouncing off the roof.

For some reason I open my eyes and sit up with "Angels We Have Heard on High" in my head.

i Me gusta este poema !

"Verbo" ~ Pablo Neruda

Voy a arrugar esta palabra,
voy a tercerla,
si,
es demasiado lisa,
es como si un gran perro o un gran rio
le hubiera repasado lengua o agua
durante muchos anos.

Quiero que en la palabra
se vea la aspereza,
la sal ferruginosa,
la fuerza desdentada
de la tierra,
la sangre,
de los que hablaron y de los que no hablaron.

Quiero ver la sed
adentro de las silabas:
quiero tocar el fuego
en el sonido:
quiero sentir la oscuridad
del grito. Quiero
palabras asperas
como piedras virgenes.

The way they talk, they make you forget that you'd find stars out in the suburbs. But here you are on a clear night, with streetlights, driveway torches, and headlights boring in and out.

You look up when you're stepping over the curb or balancing on gravel. You raise your eyes as you wonder about crazed men running out from the bushes. You stare into the expanse and blink, opening your eyes from your narrow thoughts. You wanted a quick fix. You wanted home. You wanted sleep.

Your world is dark blue and green right now, the way you always remembered it. The temperature must be below thirty but you swear you can smell spring. The air is always salty, you imagine.

The stars arch over the evergreens. So many stars, you realize again. Your feet wobble and logic returns you to the terrestrial.

You move towards the tangible lights in the windows, slowly, still watching.

I can be someone.

Is it a question? A declaration?

A dream?

We "make and bake" ON PREMISES

Big fan of the new template. Big fan.

So I figured I'd celebrate with a picture.

I'm also a big fan of being back in Cortland, walking with "Das Boot," doing, moving, dreaming. I like what I'm writing, or at least the premises. I like walking through campus at night, shadows on the snow and music in my ears.

I also like that Liz photoshops her eye color in her Facebook pictures. Gotta keep them guessing, you know!

A pleasant lunchtime discussion about death with Rachel, Liz, and Steve:

Steve: "It's nothing...it's beyond our conception of dark, because we know what 'dark' is...it's really something that we don't know! Isn't that scary?"

Diana: "No, I find it comforting."

The definition of manliness = the secure knowledge that if a random attacker were to approach, your male companion would be the one protecting you, not vice versa.

Ah. I like these PWR people!

The 6th of July? 2002

"I think people think I'm nuts when I write them long notes or e-mails, or write in-depth entries for All Quiet on the Western Front, or write twenty pages instead of three. Don't you see, I'm not like you, I can't say it all."

7-31-02
"Well, in place of driver's ed, I cleaned the bathroom. Wahoo."

Some nights I want the world. Some nights I want to sleep. Some nights these desires flip flop, there and back again. In the end it’s me, just me, a laptop away from a bed.