30 July 2006

mostly from an email

"i love that moment when you can feel the person next to you fall asleep. and you hear their breathing change and you know, and it's kind of a safe feeling---there's nothing left for you to do but sleep, and you're in something of a protector role so you'd better be safe (especially interesting as the little spoon)---but it's also kind of alienating, to be pretty certain that you're the only person still awake. (what is it about consciousness that i find so threatening? i just spent like an hour putting off the end of a nap.) i've never really slept well in groups, although being in the same bed seems to help, but i'm always wondering if anyone else is awake and feeling like i should be asleep."

i'm so ready to get back to school, to live with the family i choose.

15 July 2006

more fun questions

i work with small children. the other day we were eating lunch and two of the girls in the 5-8 block (one was 5, the other 7, i believe) asked me the following questions:

"can girls marry other girls?"

"if you're not married, can you have a baby before you get married?"


i don't like to lie. but i also want to keep my job. yay for long pauses before tiptoeing around technically true but very vague answers!

13 July 2006


Take the Role-Playing Stereotype quiz.

i usually hate things like this (although i didn't use to....), but this one just seemed too accurate.

09 July 2006

freewriting inspiration

You were singing that song that you sang the first time i ever heard your voice, and i decided right then that i would never let you go, the way the dove never lets the sparrow go, even though i don't know exactly what that means, or if it means anything at all. and couldn't you fall? not very far, just into my arms, into love, where i could maybe show you what it means and what's between when two people know and believe. it's like hearing your voice when you're singing that song that you sang the first time that i met you, never forget you, such an overused rhyme but if it suits your time you can't neglect it. it's about so much more than making words fit together, more about the space between them where nothing needs to be said but you know exactly what you (both) mean and it rains and you sit and you listen to the nothing but the
of the water on the pavement of the road you've driven so many times before. and what for? nothing but to get to you for that half-hour before the world ends to sleep, that necessary evil that keeps us apart every night, even when we're closer than close should be. i've never had a dream about you when you were lying next to me, like my brain knows you're already there so it doesn't have to invent you, and it could never make an improvement anyway . . . how could i say that the following day when we woke and the sun was shining like the light off a tree that came from the sun to begin with that you would still be there? it's the way you just know, like hearing your voice when you're singing that song you were singing the first time i saw you, and i could feel in my bones that "alone" was a word that i never would quite face again. but who's to say the calamity is in the solitude? we never do seem to know, even when we know, there's always that doubt and that mission you have to gain my admission that i've ignored it, but i can't force it, because doubt is as healthy as hearing your voice in the morning when the light shines off the tree like the sun itself and the bird sings that song you were singing the first time i knew you . . .
(this much was written in one shot [i.e. no pauses], but i feel like it could have been longer)