winters outlast every living thing.

well, the plants didn't survive. they froze of went up in smoke, died of thirst, or just faded out. my skin isn't thick enough to not feel symbols. i feel the cold, i feel the dark. i've lost things and i don't know what's missing or what became of them. i hate this, this invisible and loss. makes me feel like i have no hair on my head or like a heart with no limbs. were a lot of deaths this winter. babies were born and died and i anointed their heads and shrunk inward. people i love died and i don't know how to mourn them. we suffered and struggled, love, but didn't make it through. sometimes i feel so hollowed out, you could ash your cigarette in me. but some things survived. even if all i can focus on is the violence of the struggle. i'm trying to focus on. some things survived. one cactus in the bathroom made it. parts of my imagination. invisible things. i'm grasping. smallest hopes. i want to believe that loss is a part of life and that things that die will be born anew. desire's a seed of something, i suppose.

this week is the it. sister go to afghanistan. fam make me drink wine then there was port. week in anticipate: one presentantion on slippery slope arguments for euthanasia, get a job, get visa, mark 50 papers on the subject of "evil," write a fifteen page final evaluation, polish off the shittiest paper on virtue ethics, drawr some pictures, talk about my feelings, be done, feel disoriented, get drunk and watch the o.c. till i figure out up and down. tv should do that, right? i hope. dear journal, talk soon.

sometime soon i hope to have outweathered winter. do something that does not require lumbar support. be some sort of waitress. and it will be glorious.

http://gallery.apartmenttherapy.com/photo/020708moniquetour/_slide_

so, things are moving along, i suppose.

tracy’s back a week with james then enroute to kabul. dinner with them all last night. if a good night of being grownup means drinking bourbon with your daddy, relaxing in the sauna, and to bed at a decent hour, i like being grownup.

several weeks more of microsoftfuckyword and then no more. no more, ok?

There are things, like the harp that plays in my mind, which cannot be taken away. I can only remember a few phone numbers at once, and once I’ve learned one, it is a hard time to forget. This time it really will be. But, I’m trying to be good, trying to think of the good things. You know, I have learned some things, like that I can actually have such a desire to watch over another person. I didn’t know I had this sort of good stuff in me. I remember things and it is hard to remember, and it is also hard not to. It is difficult, that everything worth anything is a catch-22. I used to write everything down. Now I just dry heave. To my surprise, upset is not very linear— little things like that I don’t even have photographs from the rodeo. I don’t have a map for this. I can’t make a schedule. Neither of us can vitiate each other any longer. Only to myself now. If I’ve learned nothing else, humans are indeed valuable.

Flight of the Concords

fashionist
apartment therapy
carpal tunnel
avoiding
school
school
school
three more weeks three more weeks
three
weeks
more
!

hey, did I tell you I'm moving to San Francisco?

yup, i am.

i think that nice yellow one on the right'll be my house.

i am moving here.