i haven't figured for what purpose but i want it.

run to the forrest.

learned new trick tonight. when the boyez try to touch your hips too much not playing basketball any longer too long and you trying to dance and they trying to get you drinks you say i gotta pee or i gotta go to the maitland bridge strawberry supper in the morn and you just bolt out the door in your silly lavender floral home away to safe because god knows you just want to dance and like some other boy and you feel pretty good home eating nacho chips alone.

My bridesmaids dress makes me feel like I’m on Titanic.

Apparently in Afghanistan everybody is so enamored by the movie that dire risks have been taken against the Taliban just to have ‘Leo hair.’

The new Get Smart sorely disappointed my childhood memories. Why do I go about things that I know can only end badly?

The cottage was so lovely this weekend it nearly broke my heart.

Three seasons of The Wire down, two to go.

Upon Devon's recommendation I read a good story yesterday. Symbols and Signs by Nabakov.

The boy in the story had a case of ‘referential mania.’ “In these very rare cases, the patient imagines that everything happening around him is a veiled reference to his personality and existence... Phenomenal nature shadows him wherever he goes. Clouds in the staring sky transmit to each other, by means of slow signs, incredibly detailed information regarding him. His in- most thoughts are discussed at nightfall, in manual alphabet, by darkly gesticulating trees. Pebbles or stains or sun flecks form patterns representing, in some awful way, messages that he must intercept. Everything is a cipher and of everything he is the theme. All around him, there are spies. Some of them are detached observers, like glass surfaces and still pools; others, such as coats in store windows, are prejudiced witnesses, lynchers at heart; others, again (running water, storms), are hysterical to the point of insanity, have a distorted opinion of him, and grotesquely misinterpret his actions. He must be always on his guard and devote every minute and module of life to the decoding of the undulation of things. The very air he exhales is indexed and filed away. If only the interest he provokes were limited to his immediate surroundings, but, alas, it is not! With distance, the torrents of wild scandal increase in volume and volubility. The silhouettes of his blood corpuscles, magnified a million times, flit over vast plains; and still farther away, great mountains of unbearable solidity and height sum up, in terms of granite and groaning firs, the ultimate truth of his being.”

Ever feel that way?

Last week James macerated apricots and bathed them in cream. Apricots and lots of things move from my hate to love list lately.

OK. Even with daily little joys and distracting tasks I can no longer deny that I move far away for a long time in no more than three weeks. It’s as if someone spun me around ten times and plopped me down. The future is thoroughly abstract and feelings I once trusted, thoughts and reasons, separate within me like the jewels within a pomegranate.

Last night for first time in as long as can be remembered I had a dream where no one tried to kill me or lock me up. Though I began a pauper, and chased as usual, instead of awaking to gunfire, there were secret portals, magic passageways, and someone carrying me away on their shoulders holding my hand down a country road to set me down to a mug of icecream. I’m going to choose to hope in this, even though I forget his face and always wake before I get there.