Twilight

Twilight made pale skin officially sexy as hell. But that's about it.

Grandpa

In my dream last night I was at my grandfather's funeral. In mid-funeral, his eyes opened in his casket, and he sat up. Having no idea where he was, he looked around, and realizing what was going on and what had happened, he began to cry.

At that point I looked across the church aisle and saw a boy I kissed last year on the holiest day of our lifetime. Navroz for Shia Muslims, Naw-Rúz for adherents of the Bahá'í Faith, Purim for Jews, Good Friday for Christians, all fell on the same day, the day we kissed.

And there he was, the day my grandfather was risen from the dead.

Visit to the Library

Today, I checked out "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac from the library. The student librarian scanned the book and glanced at the binding.
"You know," he said, "This book has been checked out more than any other book this semester."
He handed it to me.
"I don't know if its having a resurgence, or just a perennial favorite, or what," he said.
"Well the funny thing is," I told him, "it was my Victorian Lit teacher who told me you have to read it while you're young."
I put the book in my bag.
"That's not Victorian Lit," he said.

Some people just don't get anything.

Take a breath for optimism

On Sunday Jeremey took me to Walker's Coffee & Pub and we shared a pot of African Elixer Tea for my sore throat and told me about a nearby park with granite outcroppings bigger than his house and we laughed at people walking by and each other and everything felt good.

I like adding images to my entries, this place is so plain otherwise.

I can't stop fantasizing

Last week I had four dreams in a row in which I died or was dying. This week they stopped, and I started drawing birds every day. Today it will be pigeons, and when I've got the money to buy frames I'll hang them all on my bedroom wall.

And I will own two pygmy goats

I can't stop dreaming about a place where no one knows me and nothing distracting ever happens and no one drinks to get drunk and I have a library room painted orange and I am surrounded by books and I am writing and there is no highway and there is no Wal-mart and I don't stop writing until every word is out of me and I ship every word I've created to some big city and they like it and not until they like it will I leave.
I'm so comfortable that I can't tell if I'm happy or not any more.
I need to graduate.

Things I was scared of when I was Little

The dark
The underside of my bed
My closet
Jawas
Water too deep for me to see the bottom
All forms of fire, even candles
The silicon slit throat from my mom's Halloween costume that she kept in the medicine cabinet
Crickets
Heights
Drunkenness
Eternity.

Am I braver now, or have the things I fear become impossible to type out as a list?