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2002-04-24 I want to make good skirts for people. Good in all ways to give away. I want to eat my fifth popsicle today. I want to apologize to everyone and I feel like small. And rain. Tender. I want to run away to a certain log off a certain trail and just let the condensation begin from the inside out because I'm not holding up these days always. And it isn't sadness. It's just hypersensitivity that I feel I'm not suppose to have. I'm not suppose to show. Because even regular girls aren't wounded and lifted simultaneously by the everyday alignment of events. If only this was the same as that. A way to masturbate it out, but it isn't the same. Only grief until I write enough or talk enough or do enough to justify all this. Because all this can't be arbitrary. But. |