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That sad eyed girl.

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Just Take a Bite. One Bite. [Monday the 31st, 03.54PM]
[ mood | disruptive ]

So hello. 
I can finally say I graduated and achieved a new outlook, new approach, new job...  I can check that off my proverbial to-do list, floating around in some unseen cosmic pool of hopes and dreams in a far far away place.

Now it's all swimming around in the same chest cavity with the same questionable heart and all of the thinly-veiled bad intentions as before.  
Where do I go from here?   I feel scattered and out of control.  

Now I guess I'm supposed to go knocking on the doors of employers, bright eyes hopeful, my stamped and signed diploma clutched (desperately) in hand.  I'll cling to my degrees and they'll see me through the occupational storm like rubber ducks from a sinking ocean liner.  Yes, growing up is  a real treat. 
Especially when you get caught in a net of lies and scandal and it takes you down, slowly and somewhat dramatically.

Because flirting is:
contagious
habitual &
addictive
- regardless of the consequences.

I'm sorry for being a dumb kid.  I'm trying to grow up, trying so hard.
  But I'm not trying hard enough.

Shall We Dance?

La Valse Des Vieux Os [Tuesday the 20th, 10.35PM]
These tired old bones remember.  Calcium aches and a rib-cage holding back a heart in the summer two years ago.
I remember crying big streaky tears and hiding them behind giant sunglasses.  I had the salty flavor of sadness in the back of my mouth and drove home numb with bone-white fingers on the wheel. 

I cried everyday for a few weeks and had nightmares every night.  Summer dragonflies turned to bullets and bees to fat yellow bombs.  Silly heart got caught in a foxhole, and barbed-wire and a far far away war.

February came and went, and came and went and there was no green sweater.  Nor fingers that went on forever or a voice like wind through shady leaves.

But today these old bones remembered.  Tired of jelly cushion cradles, aching at the joints.  I was standing there fixing my schedule for the summer and I saw a giant.  I tried to act nonchalant, but I felt my mouth open in surprise - and there was a pause.  A  long   pause. 
What do you say in a moment like this?  When the deck is shuffled for so long, and finally two small and insignificant cards are suddenly stacked together after being divided. 
Hello?  How are you?  How was the war? 

He beat me to the first word and that warm smile that says everything is okay.  "You don't know who I am, do you."

I stuttered before finally saying something.  A split second too late I thought of everything I could have said.  "Of course I do.  You're the boy who took my heart to war and back."

I just stuttered.  And how I'd like to quit my job, but now we can stand in the server cubby and make coffee.  It'll make the whole wait worthwhile.  That smile. 
Shall We Dance?

Get The Devils In Line [Tuesday the 6th, 11.48PM]
[ mood | inspired ]

I listened to Naomi Shihab Nye speak tonight.  I'd be a liar if I said that I wasn't apprehensive in the first place.  My friend said over a sketchy phone-line that her poems were mediocre.  He said she writes about 'terrorism and shit like that' and he said he's meet me out in front.

I scowled out at the dark parking lot and watched people begin to trickle in, two by two like symmetry.  My breath was white like nuclear steam until I gave-up waiting and went inside.  The room was warm and well-populated and I swear a slight hesitation was on everyone's tongue.  The crowd was nowhere near as massive as the one drawn by Neil Gaimon when he visited last year, or as familiar as when Michael Cunningham stopped by to read for thirty-minutes a few weeks back. 

"You know?  That's just how they are.  In so many situations.  They are nice to his face, and they are nice when they rip him to shreds..."  Leaning over a guy from one of my classes I whispered to another friend.  We used to sit under his stairwell at the beginning of this semester.  We made plans to decorate it with posters and Christmas lights and a little candle-shrine.  But we stopped talking out of the blue when our schedules and obligations interfered.  "Yeah," he nodded, "I noticed.  I tried to be supportive.  I know what it's like to question to my faith." 

Faith.  The word was almost unrecognizable in my mind.  Like the sound of a moth's wings.  You know you hear it, you see them like dusty brown papers titillating with a vague shimmer against the porch light.  The night is late, 3 or 4 AM.  You spent all evening and night in the back of his Jeep with your head on his shoulder, watching shooting-stars and telling yourself that life will always be perfect.  Having faith in your ability to hold it all together.  Then you see the moth, feel the wings brush by your tangled hair.  You swear you hear its tiny wings beating frantically past and on into the night.  Then it's gone.  It was real, you know it was real.  The next morning you're fixing your hair and you wonder in the back of your mind if it was only your imagination. 

Then she was standing at the front of the room in mismatched clothes and a messy ponytail on the right side of her symmetrical face.  Naomi was incredibly real.  She had emotion.  Hearing her read her work was an amazing experience.  It was not about "terrorism and shit", it was about anything and everything that ever has and can matter to anyone.  When she spoke, she spoke to me.  She spoke to my classmate, and the guy next to him, and everyone.  She just had that ability to reach. 

I want the ability to reach.

I will pursue the ability to reach.

Shall We Dance?

The Light Is White [Thursday the 25th, 03.19PM]
[ mood | Narrative ]

The days are getting colder.  Tell yourself it's only a cold-front and the chill in the air will pass.  It will pass, it always does.

It's a lovely notion, knowing that the final channels of autumn warmth aren't too far gone.  They're only flickering like a dying candle's wick.  The heat will return, but not as warm as it was a few weeks ago and you know that winter will come, eventually.

So you sit here, indifferent.  Moreso than usual, but you know it's the weather.  You know it's because you had to look at old photographs.  You had to go there, see it for yourself again, shake your head as you saw the age on his brow.  Saw the barely recognizable receding hairline that only you would notice.  You took your heart back a while ago, but he was your first love and somewhere inside you must accept the fact that he will always ALWAYS make you think "what if?" 

You see your friend's ex-girlfriend throwing hateful words.  Then you see your fling herself at his feet and beg him to make things right again.  Then she tells him that she hopes he's hurting, throws a sad little party for herself and takes bold pictures of her smiling through swollen red eyes.
When you were dumped, you ignored the phone.  You didn't know how you were supposed to act as the "old" news, so you distracted yourself and never expected anything more from him.  When he did call, you were surprised, but you didn't act sad.  You didn't let him see that you cared.  He came over, you laid your head on his chest when he tells you he cried himself to sleep.  You pretend for a moment that you didn't break-up.  You call him "baby" and he winces.   Take it back, apologize.  Think to yourself that you know that he'll marry the girl he met in college someday.

Now you sit here, and although you've already seen the pictures of his motley wedding and his wife's dimpled arms rising like dough from her strapless dress, and her maids dressed in every offensive color this indifference in the weather makes you look at them again out of curiosity.   Sigh and wonder if you'd thrown yourself at his feet when he broke your heart if things would be different.  Be haunted by the past for the first time in a while.  Think that things would have been different.  That ring would be on your finger.

Be reasonable.  Turn up your music, acoustic.  Smile and think of the new fellow with bright eyes playing his guitar.  Think of him singing Dashboard Confessional while you curled under his blankets.  You wanted to tell him that you loved him that night, but you were waiting for the right moment which just happened to be the night you made him macaroni and cheese and the only noise was the music of boiling water when you just said it.  You just spit it out on the table and he kissed. 

Yes, your love might have been directed elsewhere or your timing would be different in every aspect.  But you like it better this way.

You're going to go visit the boy and his guitar now.  Then you'll go to the capitol tonight to eat pizza on the river with your best friends from fourth grade, and seventh grade, and your junior year of college.  

2 | Shall We Dance?

Some Will Seek Forgiveness [Saturday the 6th, 04.00PM]
[ mood | Complacent ]

One month, two months.  Time seems so irrelevant and moves so quickly. 
One month can find me crying every single day, and the next I am the happiest I've ever been.  These ups and downs are part of life but they are also so unhealthy.  (Or are they?)

Medicines such as Prozac and its kin exist to keep us all at happy mediums.  All the extreme emotions are being stifled.  Are we numb to deep sadness? Even more terrifying, are we numb to the things that make us want to dance and scream, and dance and dance? 
So I wonder if these fluctuating emotions are unhealthy or not.   I have reasons to be sad.  I have reasons to be happy.   They coexist.  They keep life interesting.

It's easy to say this, so I want to say it now.  Right now that I'm in love.   And believe it or not, in love with the same person who was causing so much grief a month ago. 
I tell myself that the reason it hurt so much a month ago was because I saw the true potential, and the thought of never realizing what could be was crippling. 

Now I hold his hand and we walk to class.  He does his homework and I fall asleep on his sofa, and he whispers in my ear.  He is strong and understanding. 

The potential is being realized everyday.  So this is why I smile.
Deus ex machina - it does exist.

Shall We Dance?

Lowest Lows [Wednesday the 5th, 04.50PM]
[ mood | Suicidal ]

I'll keep reminding myself that it is part of the human condition to feel so bad. 

I'll keep telling myself that this is normal, that I am thankful for these trials.

How long ago did I post?  Less than three hours.  I was head over heels.

I went to his house.  He told me that he is still in love with her.  He told me that he's sorry for the roller-coaster.  He told me that he is sorry that he is going to wait on her.

That was his choice, not mine.

I don't think I believe in third chances.

And I thought I had something really beautiful.

Shall We Dance?

A Dozen Blushing Cherubs Wheel About [Wednesday the 5th, 02.26PM]
[ mood | Talkative ]




I'm on a roller-coaster. So this is life? This is what it means to be human. We cannot have highs without lows. Would not perfect happiness eventually cheapen itself? I think so, my dears. So these pitiful rock-bottom lows are not yet over, but I am thankful that I face these trials.

These sorrows stare me in the eyes undeterred by prayers and pleas for help, oncoming and unashamed. I thought there would be no light at the end of my tunnel and bent to the exhilaration of self-destruction.

Then the blanket of sorrow so black that it broke my spirit peeled away to reveal an after-work bike-ride that has altered my life in subtle ways. My friend suggested we go on a ride, and feeling that I had nothing else worth doing I agreed.
Understand that I've not touched my bike in months and I'm terribly out of condition to be pushing any physical limits.
We rode three miles and he was far far ahead of me. By the time I reached our goal, all I could see was his silhouette against the brilliance of gas-station fluorescent lights as he stood at the top of the hill waiting for me. There was music playing at the gas-station, but I couldn't hear it over the cars on the interstate and my own heart beating in overexertion. I laid in the grass and he went to fill up our water-bottle.
I haven't felt so much appreciation for my own life in years. The thrill of reaching my goal was amazing. I didn't think I could do it. But each time I was ready to give up, he would look over his shoulder. He never said a word, but there was encouragement in his eyes. Symbolic.

Last night I walked with the boy who has been a big contributor in my fluctuating moods. I assume the worst and he tells me to trust him.
I didn't know what to think. My friend had told him last night that today I would be going to our ballroom class without a partner, and he should be worried to imagine me in the arms of another guy. I shrugged and made a smart comment, something along the lines of "he doesn't care..."
Midnight found us sitting at the fountain, the same place we sat when I felt the first flood of emotions a week ago. We had a lot of talking to do. My pessimism would not stop, could not stop. Then he showed me a text message he sent earlier in the evening. To his coworker "Will you work for me tomorrow night? Pigeon needs someone to dance with tomorrow."

I almost cried, bit my lip instead but he still saw the silly faces I made to fight back the tears.

I talk too much on here. I can't find a way to compress these thoughts when they move me so deeply. Long story made a bit more brief, he asked what I wanted to come of "us". In turn, I asked him what he felt was the purpose of dating. He had a fantastic answer.

And on a similar note:
San Francisco would be a gorgeous place to live. The cost of living is high, but I'd give it a try. An emotionally unstable writer might thrive in an eccentric city.
Shall We Dance?

I Will Hang My Head Low [Monday the 3rd, 02.53PM]
[ mood | Confused ]

Labor day starts with a tired phone-call all smiles on both ends of the line. Now midday my head is pounding and I regret that I fill this journal with nothing but negativity.
I'd do so elsewhere but this is the only journal where I trust my own anonymity.

If I had a flower I'd pick it innocent petal from petal "he loves me, he loves me not" because not understanding is killing me slowly.

He wants to come over, he wants to see me. Suddenly now he decides that we should slow down, it's a cautionary note, he says. Warnings don't hurt people, he claims, they protect them. Oh true.

But how can they protect me from myself? They can't, so I'm sitting here using writing as a distraction until I can finally go to work and get away.
I love it, working on labor day. Hilarious.

It's better than doing nothing, I suppose. And it's definitely better than doing what I wish I had the will-power to do.

Shall We Dance?

Give Me A Reason To End This Discussion [Monday the 27th, 01.51PM]
[ mood | feeble ]

Two weeks ago I was going to make this post. I was so full of energy and hope for this new semester.

I find it sad that sorrow is more driving than joy. What forces this update today is another endless string of confusion and misdirection. A journey without a map and I'm standing in the desert just waiting. This is the waiting place.

Two weeks ago my aunt gave me three-thousand dollars to keep me from taking a loan out for this semester. I was spinning with my birthday, and new potential, relief from debt, and what seemed to be a resolution with myself.

Why now? Why did I decide to let my guard down. We all know where this is going, don't we? We've all been here before.
I've drama weighing my thoughts to the ground and an impending crushing action to my heart. It's just a matter of when he can muster the strength to kill me off.

And when I try to talk to my friends, they tell me it's gossip. When I keep it to myself, they think I have something to hide.
This room smells vaguely like iron, like blood.

I thought I hated literature but today it is my saving grace. Our suffering and sadness is what makes us human. Thomas Carlyle may very well be my guardian angel.

Shall We Dance?

I'll Love You Forever Or Find Something Better [Sunday the 5th, 04.36PM]
[ mood | Wordy ]



The sun was brilliant. A white nova disco ball - radiant, casting Florida in hues of an overexposed photograph. From my home the trip was twenty hours in one direction and we drove throughout the night. Sunset on Saturday over midsouth cedars and thin black locust trees to a Sunday sunrise through spent peach trees and cuticle-reminiscent palms.

Afternoon iguanas and lazy alligators warming scales and tails along the streches of hot Florida asphalt, and banyan trees with roots so big we could all play hide and seek. I saw the Atlantic for the first time in my life. Shell-rich sands stretched down the coast forever along the condos, along with striped beach umbrellas and a folding chair menagerie.

The first night we parked the van and piled out, stretching distance from our legs and yawning away the last of the dramamine's embrace. At first I heard nothing only yards from the water, and then I heard the waves. My friends meandered behind - Education major, Chemistry major, Computer Science major, Medical Biology major. Perhaps the ocean sings its song loudest to those who are willing to hear.

"Come see why poets find inspiration in me." I ran. I met the incoming tide with pale bare legs. The salt-water was warm, a deep blue-black ink under the full moon. I remembered why I am Writing major. I remembered why I love literature. The ocean breathed in and out. In and out. And finally my friends caught up, stopping just before the waterline. I was up to my waist and the waves pulled away, saying in a voice that only I could hear "Come with me. Come with me." I looked out at the distant nothingness, the lonely expanse of water.
The Atlantic is a collector and a taker and a keeper of secrets. I felt all at once like I was connected to everything. I saw the distant cliffs of Ireland, the deepest coldest and darkest canyon in the ocean where the seabed falls away into obsidian mystery. The Titantic was there, miles and miles off the northern coast forever sleeping, taken and collected. "Come with me. I'll share with you my secrets."

I looked back to my friends just wading to their knees, laughing and picking shells from the sand. Tempted, very tempted. "I fear I can only speculate for now." I said to the horizon. I waded back to the beach and we drove down Los Olas where the night life doesn't start until eleven in the evening.

We ate at a restaurant named Doraku in Miami, right on a busy strip lined with stores with price-tags so high they made me blush. The atmosphere pulsed, alive with bass techno beats and sighed Zen with beige paper lanterns. I met a server that night with eyes filled with enough passion they could break your heart. I excused myself and wandered down a dark hallway marked with tea-candles on the wall. As the music looped its deep pulse I was an inch from insanity and telling him, whose name I had learned, that he was beautiful and did deeply regret the fact that I would never see him again.

I do that quite often, though. Feel a welling sadness for all the would be's and could be's.

Amidst all of the Miami madness we spoke to a phsyic woman named Ms. Lee. Over a bowl of crystal-sticks and melted white waxes she saw sadness written all over me and I saw a scar falling down her chest. "Don't worry. You have a bright future." Ms. Lee told me. She was right about a lot of things, so I hope she's right about that.

And now that I'm home again on this, my quiet birthday afternoon, I am thinking about facing this bright future. Classes start again very soon. Most of my belongings are still packed from last year. Here is to a Florida-sunglight brilliant future...
Shall We Dance?

But She Knows He Won't Listen [Tuesday the 6th, 01.00AM]
[ mood | Heavy-Hearted ]

I really thought I had a catch, but all I had was a false alarm. I'm coping though, because I half-way saw it coming when he stopped opening the door for me, and stopped kissing my cheek.

When I get sad, I start getting the urge to run away to an island far away. Each day when my sadness grows worse, I add something nicer to this island that is safe from the craziness of the world.

There are only two season there, late spring, and late fall. The weather is always warm during late spring, and always chilly enough in autumn to wear fleecy sweaters in the late evening and early morning.

In the spring, the island is an emerald shaving in the distant blue sea. People plant flowers that grow in seconds and bloom until fall. The island smells like sugar and cotton candy and lilacs, and silver shimmer sparkles on every petal of every flower like a fairy dust. Nobody is allowed to wear shoes. All little girls wear their hair in long braids or messy curls, and little boys wear clip-on ties and shine their shoes like everyday is Sunday. Nobody has allergies, and everybody swims in the early to late evening until they are ready to go home for a dinner of watermelons and kabobs.

In the fall, the island turns into an alloy of gold and copper as the trees get ready for the upcoming spring. The air smells like apple cider and pumpkin pie from mema's house. The wind makes everyone's hair tangly and adorable, and everyone spends the afternoon knitting scarves for one another. People carve pumpkins that don't turn to mush until the spring, when they are replanted for fall. Everyone rides brown horses without saddles, and neighbors share their hay with one another. Nobody ever argues, especially not in autumn because of all of the festivals.

Everyone on the island owns a pearl and two diamonds, and they are not afraid to fall helplessly and unconditionally in love.


For the time being, that is all I have come up with. I figure I'll start to feel better soon. He was only the adoration of three-weeks' time and the early spring of the year is getting into my frost-bitten bones.

Shall We Dance?

Sighing Into The Wind [Saturday the 24th, 03.35PM]
[ mood | thrilled ]

The thought of him in the arms of a girl with monkey arms and donkey teeth doesn't break my heart like I figured it might.

Especially not now, when I can't stop smiling because a certain young man with curly black hair and patient hazel eyes is taking me to a concert next Saturday. It is really nice to have someone offer to pay my way.

He was smiling when I met him, and all I could think about was the way his lip ring made him seem so alive. When I found out that he likes The Rocket Summer, I smiled because I knew that he would never make fun of me for listening to modern music instead of bad 80's rock.

I wish I could show you his smile, because I swear it makes the entire world right, if only for a moment.

1 | Shall We Dance?

Rise And Fall, Just Like the Ocean [Wednesday the 14th, 01.40AM]
[ mood | Strange ]

Red hearts, pink hearts, chewy-gum hearts, chocolate cream and swirly minty hearts, red tinfoil heart boxes, floating hearts on red-string tails, and one heart barely beating.

There will be no trip to Mexico ever. There will be no swimming on forever in the Riviera, or drinking cheap champagne and fig seeds from a coconut shell in the sunset pink and crushing.

Just textbooks, and an essay on a Pope. Or perhaps, A. Pope as in Alexander and the Rape of the Lock.

I wish I could live in Belinda's world, where the trivial has become important, and the most important things have become trivial. I want airy spirits to surround me dressed in gauzy little dresses and dewy sparkling little wings.
Instead, I bought a red notebook today, to be festive for the heart holiday.

My room is cold, and I just figured out why not an hour ago. My window has been propped open for the day with a pack of playing cards. Now I think I'm falling ill.
How did that woman with the crystal ball know that cards would be my downfall? I may have caught consumption!

This is no way for me to die. I'm not attracted to velvet robes and weakly coughing into embroidered kerchiefs for months and months until it finally kills me off.
How about I just avoid this whole 'death' notion altogether and just live forever?

Only if I get to keep my mind.
Words words...

Shall We Dance?

Heaven Adores You [Tuesday the 23rd, 01.16PM]
[ mood | Exhausted ]

His eyes are burning brown. They can see your soul and will steal your breath if you'll let them.

He said his mother met his father during springbreak at her college. He said "Let me take you to Mexico." She agreed, and they fell in love, and they never came back.

I wish someone would fly me away to a beach in Mexico where I would never have to come back.

It's too cold here and I have papers to print out before I go to work.

Shall We Dance?

Talking Trash Under My Window [Tuesday the 28th, 11.03PM]
[ mood | Enraged ]

I thought it might be nice to wait a good ten months or so before I updated again. I was waiting for the ice to break. For the opportune moment.

I am sorry that it happens to be a very irritable, irrational load of garbage.

Last year a friend abandoned us and someone I know was very angry. She thought it was the worst thing a person could do, just up and leave.
Gone and quiet like a cold day.

Funny thing really, that she should land in a similar position.

As if I am not stressed by twenty hour projects and late night thinking and working to pay for this semester I now I have to either pay for a single room or I'll have to find a new roommate.

And since I can hardly pay for my classes as it is, I'll have to find a new roommate. Our bed clothes won't match and I will have to face the difficult task of sleeping in the room with a complete stranger for five long months.

I am bitter. And all I want to say is "Hell no. I won't help you move a damn thing to your new dorm so you can be in the same building with him."

Instead I'm sitting here on a borrowed computer listening to guys play Guitar Hero and I feel my heart beating like a war drum in my chest. I'm enraged.

And at the same time, I'm ready to cry and just tell the world I've had enough.

2 | Shall We Dance?

Remembering When You Were Mine [Monday the 15th, 01.03AM]
[ mood | Confused ]

Everyone has gone home for the summer. We all flew away like little birds, taking with us our blankets and papers and where would we be without our memories?

And while we were all very busy that final week, we were winding down and trying to salvage that final spin of dial and make it last. Oh we made it last. But throughout in the madness and flashing colors my heart took a fall that only the two of us know about. I say it here because I have nowhere else to tend to such flights of fancy and to watch unfold what I thought was a failed attempt to fly. I know I'm making a mistake.

There was a grand catalyst on Halloween when I wore pink silk and he wore face paint. And now he tells me that he thinks about the two of us all the time. I tell him that I give don't give it much thought, but I do remember crying. I didn't bother telling him that he was the main focus of my first entries here or that I'll never forget his kiss. Then he held my hand.

So he's with her and I'm with the boy I met in December. London bridge is falling down. Then we reach a compromise and change our minds. And then we reach the same compromise again but tonight we lay it to rest. He likes her a lot and I am happy in my current situation.

I should write it in a book.
(But I still won't forget the first time he kissed me)

4 | Shall We Dance?

The Heart That Loved Her [Sunday the 30th, 11.53PM]
[ mood | Sleepy ]

The last time I cut my hair I put my clippings under the tree where my grandmother feeds bluebirds and blackbirds and doves. This afternoon I opened the lid to a birdbox and peeked in. I saw a little nest with some little sky-blue eggs. And the nest was made of twigs and moss and some locks of brown hair.

Today I was moving my cream-white shelves against the north window of my room and my glass globe fell to the floor. No harm done. I take it as a sign of good fortune when a fragile little world can take such a fall and still be just as lovely as before.

The finals at my university begin this week. I only have to take two exams out of the five classes I took this semester but they are going to be monsters. They'll have sharp teeth and glowing red eyes and they will be ready to keep me awake at night with terror.


If all had gone according to plan, I would be on an airplane to Jordan right now and I would have four rolls of film to spend up at Petra. Due to the hatred in the world my plans were foiled last October when suicide bombers collapsed my hotel.
I think I'll take an hour of each day this week to reflect on such events and what I can do to make this world a better place for someone else.

Shall We Dance?

Shadows Of The Afternoon [Friday the 7th, 10.01PM]
[ mood | Favorable ]

There were no swamps at all, nor alligators, nor brick powder and Bourbon street voodoo dancing in the streets long into the night. I suppose I was not as far south as I had imagined. There were dogwoods blooming in pine forests that I think stretch on forever, and purple hanging wisteria on all the little wooden fences and every tree bough.

At least forty miles down a road that runs straighter than a sewing pin we all stopped at a station for this or that. The owners were born in New Dehli and grew up in Yorkshire. I wish I could live in places so lovely and foreign. Although I doubt I would enjoy working at a fuel stop selling scratchcards and lotto tickets.

There was a party on Monday night for two of my friends. I strung crepe-paper streamers on the ceiling of my room and had two cakes with blue and white icing. I gave one a paper lantern in the shape of a star and the other a plush I sewed while watching a movie on a rainy night a few weeks ago.

I think tomorrow will be a good day for baking cupcakes with pink icing, and mending one of my skirts, and reading and sewing a new plush to sit on my dresser. Maybe I'll put on my rubber boots and play in puddles later in the afternoon.

8 | Shall We Dance?

Just A Conspiracy Of Cartographers [Friday the 31st, 10.53AM]
[ mood | Excited ]

My mother took my lovely puppy to the pound because she chased one of the cats. (and killed two birds, chewed up three of my grandmother's bird-feeders, and broke four lamps from our garden)

I wish I had something really wonderful to type here but classes are about as interesting these white walls.

Last night I went to the room across the hall from his and talked to the boy who lives there. He wears glasses with thick black frames and plays the saxophone for fun. His suitemate is an artist and taped a shadow monster to his walls. They are wonderfully creative.

Wish me luck in the swamps.

3 | Shall We Dance?

Who'll Come A-Waltzing Matilda With Me [Thursday the 30th, 09.03PM]
[ mood | Cheerful ]

I was going to be a hero. A pint and six vials later I felt dizzy in the student center and had to rest at one of the tables. Those chairs are so low and all I remember is noise and watching him disappear into the crowd to find me some water. Then I wanted to cry but I had forgotten how.

She was an angel in a red shirt with denim pants and just happened to be a diabetic passing by. I felt two cold, fat round tablets being pressed into my palm and a bottle of apple juice on the table. Suddenly I remembered that I don't believe in coincidences. Then he came back with water and another friend sat down with his chewy pizza to watch my chalk coloured lips turn rosy again. And everyone sat down and we laughed and smiled. I have decided that my friends are angels in t-shirts and backpacks. (and I don't enjoy donating my blood)

Tomorrow I am heading south toward the swamps to visit his family for the first time. Maybe I'll see an alligator, or brick powder, or catch malaria. They would all be quite fun!

Shall We Dance?

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