last glass...dusty buckets...parched e-lips...sponge...drip...drop

2003-05-07 - 2:54 p.m.: ether ore

i don't know, for sure, whether the purpose of this diary is to record what i want to remember later, or to record EVERYTHING so that i *will* remember later. i'm guessing it's whatever i want it to be. i'll try both, maybe.

*begin things i want to forget* yesterday sucked. i was tired and sore and irritable. my back hurt like a mutherfucker all day, especially at practice. easy to take if i had actually hurt it, but no. i slouch in my chair at work too much and sleep curled and twisted in sheets instead of flat like a corpse. that's the gist of it. a trip to meijer for a HUGE overpriced bottle of motrin (and cheap strawberries) (and lime tortilla chips) (and socks) (and tea) is helping, temporarily...but for future reference, self, SIT THE FUCK UP. PLEASE. also, i felt a pointless twinge of something that made me feel 'out of the way.' ghostly. it disappeared almost right away, but still. it unanswered questions i thought i was finished with. dammit. also, i considered lying to a friend to cover up the fact that i was going to ditch her tonight for a practice she was not invited to with the team we're both trying to join but which she's probably not going to make. how fucking lame. all in all, not a very good day for my human side. thunderstorms will clean everything up, again, but i still feel messy and low. *end things i want to forget*

everything else, i want to remember. my little brother sent me a poem via email for my sisterly critique. :) it was so adorable. his poetry is typically very bloody... a sort of fantasy-meets-WWII genre. this was supposed to be about springtime, so he chose to portray it as a battle between life (spring) and death (winter) with snapping buds, frogs, deer and crickets as little warriors, ushering in the new regime with their own 'shock and awe' tactics. it's strange to think of how keenly we're influenced as children by what we see and read. i was into dr. seuss, the muppet show and michael jackson, then l'engle then king then koontz then maugham then heine then hesse then camus...'till i started reading anything with a rice-paper feel and old-new smell. i've never read lord of the rings. i don't know if i ever will. i feel as though the time for me to get any magic out of it has passed, and i feel like reading it for anything else is a little bit criminal. maybe i'm just being weird. anyway...he has. twice. and everything else with elves and dragons and swords and relics. when he tells me about these stories, he gets a shine in his eye and a flush in his cheeks, as though he's letting me in on a secret. i really believe that he has an entire reality inside of his head, inhabited by characters adopted and adapted by his own imagination...his very own sim world.... just as real as (but more dramatic than) the one he sees and deals with every day. i think he prefers it.

it makes me a little bit sad when he says he doesn't want to grow up. but i don't blame him. i hope i can change our minds.

as it's pretty rare that something happens that i *want to forget*, i think i'm on the right track.

sit up straight.

(anything else you can do in curves.)