God...

...is everywhere. Something not to forget.

I like slam poetry. Dev0n rocks, and not just for introducing me to it. You know, this was the second time I cried about Kynnin in a public place; the first was when that man at the folk fest was singing the 'and it's a lucky man who gets to touch her face' song. Crying in public isn't the right description; it's crying because of a publically-induced thing, not walking down the street with a friend crying but doing something that's supposed to be intimate.

Who would ever have thought that *I* would end up with emotional scars? But they're there, past the grief. Grief is just a feeling, but scars twist things up, lock them up, keep you from moving right and being smoothly. I imagine they fade. I don't... approve of them, you know? I *grin* don't like my past to influence my future. But, there you have it.

Man.

I am so tired. Taking boat out tomorrow with mom. Anyone wanna come? This means you. Hah, I know you're all busy, actually.

Tillie came over, talked a bunch. Was good. Brother got driver's license. Hah.

Rats love me, even Helen who bit my nipple (bad Helen!) :P

Somewhat poetry-obsessed. Am tired to point of being dazed now, was poetried to point of being dazed earlier, had interlude where I talked to Sandra and randomly happied about the poetry group I watched. Couldn't think of the right person to call to gush about it, though.

Marshmallow-bed. Orange juice put through a blender with marshmallow. Bean with bacon soup. Sound of aquarium water tinkling in background. Good book. Padding of money in bank.

Life is bliss.