Month: March 2004

there is paper again

crash

I was running so behind today. I felt terrible.   came all the way from his place to bring boxes and spend time, and my job interview went for way too long and I ran for a bus and missed it then had to wait for the next one who then kicked everyone off cause of some damnded teenagers and I was almost an hour late and I finallly made it the house and there were boxes on the porch. *wails*

I felt so damned awful it was amazing I could breathe.

I am blessed to have such friends.

cut off these sweet hands, pain is empathy, oh my lord

Alrighty – there’s a smack of comps available for the upcoming Sea Theatre play. Anyone want to come along?

Damn you.

I’m sick today. Woke up the second time to a liquid dripping headache day.
This is ridiculous. I don’t get colds. I get raging nasty sicknessess with brain misfire feedback and delerium.
I don’t know if this pathetic ache is any better.

I suppose though, as you gave it to me so kindly….

Robin got some money for his birthday that he decided to use getting music. If it weren’t for the prospect of rescue and the Rose Chronicles I forced the boy to buy, I would be screaming now.

well – yeah – the sandwich helps lots too.

Things have been different lately. I’ve been kissed.

Positive uncertainty seems the term of the day. Daylight shifting into night and back without sleep. It’s hard to think, to not try to think anything in particular. “this is what is expected of me” A little death.

Honesty is refreshing. Showers of letters, bathing in bright iridescence of  writ. The statement of intentions, worries and self frailty not hiding behind closed words. My appreciation for the fine arts is not waning, nor wanting. Thoughts pouring into my hands, claws deep into flesh.

 

Things have been different lately. I’ve been kissed.

Positive uncertainty seems the term of the day. Daylight shifting into night and back without sleep. It’s hard to think, to not try to think anything in particular. “this is what is expected of me” A little death.

Honesty is refreshing. Showers of letters, bathing in bright iridescence of  writ. The statement of intentions, worries and self frailty not hiding behind closed words. My appreciation for the fine arts is not waning, nor wanting. Thoughts pouring into my hands, claws deep into flesh.

 

You’ve found me out.
I wasn’t hiding very far away.
Nor far enough, in my honest brain.

Good morning

Darkest of the Hillside Thickets was this evening. Adrian and I went together after spending time out with James and Sophie and Robin. Cthulu was everywhere. The Railway is too small for such things.