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Wednesday, September 7th, 2005
10:22 am
To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich; to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly; to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages with open heart; to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, awaiting occasions, worry never; in a word to, like the spiritual, unbidden, and unconscious, grow up through the common. This is my symphony.
-- William Henry Channing

This is pretty much how I've summed up life since I read this on the side of a raspberry-strawberry organic tea box in 9th grade. And you think my organic tea is a bunch of shit. Ha. It's hung inside my Ellis locker (I mean, closet) for four years and on the bulletin board above my bed at JCU for three. I'm sure it'll hang by wild grasses inside my mud-hut when I'm groovin' it on the commune in Oregon, too, drinking my organic tea. Stop by and visit. Ca, c'est pourquoi j'adore la vie.

current mood: satisfied

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Sunday, September 4th, 2005
5:30 pm
Today I finally overcame
Trying to fit the world inside a
Picture frame

Maybe I will tell you all about it when I'm in the mood to lose my way but let me say you
Should have seen that
Sunrise

With your
Own eyes

It brought me back to life.

You'll be with me next time
I go
Outside

No
More
Three by fives

current mood: energetic

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2:54 am
I started a diary in second grade. My dad brought it home for me -- light pink with purple stripes and a brown teddy bear on the front and "Dear Diary" written in that font that's supposed to look like handwriting but is too neat. I liked it because I thought it looked like a hardback book. And in second grade, I'm pretty sure I didn't have any of those. He'd sit on my bed while I wrote in it almost every night before bed, which was probably like 7:00. My entries are all with crummy Bic pens that were leaking, but second graders don't notice those things at the time. My punctuation was even good in second grade. I think it was better then than that of a significant portion of people I know now. The typical entry describes what happened at the first shift of the Saint John Neumann lunch, who brought chips and who brought pretzels, what scrunchie Carrie was wearing, how I offered Jenny Hiteshew some of my Kit Kat. These were the days when Kit Kats didn't carry death sentences and become looted by the Gestapo in exchange for some wheat germ.

My entries are all dated. Some even have the time on them. I never filled it up in second grade. One time, in sixth grade, I was compelled to revisit it and continue. So it goes from "Molly and I went to dance class today and we got new bows for our tap shoes" to "Doug hit me with the basketball while we were in the middle of 'Be Aggressive,' but I pretended like I was okay."

I guess this is the same kind of thing. Minus Dad, minus Doug (actually, plus Doug, just incarnated un peu differentment). Still got the Kit Kats, the grammar, the tacky font, and the fear that the wrong person will find it. The pink diary never had a lock. I didn't even know they came with locks until Carrie showed me hers. She was always better at hiding stuff from her parents. Don and Barb were totally clueless. Even when Barb was shoving Saint Christopher medals down Carrie's and my (?) shirts before letting us out at Shaler Skateland. I was always afraid Dad would read it, so I hid it under the corner of my mattress, sandwiched with the boxspring. Always at the corner nearest my pillow. Maybe I figured the closer it was to my head, the less distance that would be between the hard evidence and the thoughts themselves. Maybe I figured if someone DID find it, say, while I was sleeping, that the minimal proximity to my brain would save me and I could verbally redeem myself if need be. Dad found it once. My life was basically over. Because, see, he found it during the sixth grade bout, NOT during the chips-or-pretzels era. Wonder how much more "over" my life would be if Dad found the junior-in-college version. Good thing I don't talk in my sleep. Oh wait. I do.

current mood: pensive

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