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Saturday, November 6th, 2004

Time:12:16 pm.



i changed usernames; i know i suck


add. me. again.


[pwetty please]


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Thursday, November 4th, 2004

Time:11:28 pm.
Mood: crushed.
I hate how it is between us. My world's flipped upside down.
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Friday, October 29th, 2004

Time:10:15 pm.
Well, I've "sorta-kinda" moved back to my orignial journal.


My UJ and I have had a wonderful relationship. Call me needy, but I can't give it up.

If you have a AML or UJ account, feel free to add me.
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Saturday, October 23rd, 2004

Time:11:11 am.
Mood: mellow.
Before she turned weird, she was cool. She sat in the back of the classroom and made blue BIC ink doodles in a Strathmore sketchbook. Hourglass ladies with waterfall hair and heart-shaped lips. Boys wearing baseball caps and converse sneakers. She perfected the catholic school girl with knobby knees.

I don't know how, but I became her disciple. She taught me how to draw pretty faces and I showed her the secret to folding notes like polo shirts. We practiced our alphabets and debated the merits of a curly-tailed "y."

the a wars

When the teacher would walk by we'd swiftly slip our sketchbooks beneath our stack of books.

She also wrote stories, the first stories I ever read that weren't printed and bound and shelved. I remember one, in particular, about a beautiful girl, a waterfall and a devastatingly handsome man who saw her reflection in the water. I remember her perfect handwriting in blue ink and loose leaf paper. I wanted to write like that.

(I remember, later, writing something a lot like it, too much like it, and trying to convince myself that my story was original.)

She turned weird when she started to stalk Joey McIntyre, the youngest member of the New Kids on the Block. She returned from her first concert totally smitten. At the second concert, she met him. And after the third concert, it seemed all she wanted to do was to lock herself in her room and listen to their records.

And she had no more time to hang out with me.

I convinced myself it was okay because I would rather listen to r.e.m. than n.k.o.t.b., and I would rather dot my i’s with dots than hearts. I practiced writing in my sketchbook until I perfected my alphabet. Mine was way better than hers.
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Friday, October 22nd, 2004

Time:7:58 am.
Mood: crazy.
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Saturday, October 16th, 2004

Time:2:06 pm.
Mood: busy.
There are a lot of things I'm not good at. I can't throw a ball to save my life. I have a heck of a time balancing a checkbook. I get stage fright in front of big crowds. If I were a superhero, one of my weaknesses would be that I am too nice. I don't know how to say "No."

This year, however, one of my unwritten resolutions has been to find my limit and stick with it. To take, as well as give. To slow down.

But somehow, as another year's end approaches, when the resolutions are a faraway memory, I am forgetting it all. I am trying to do way too much, and it's making my head spin. My project list is longer than its ever been, and the deadlines are approaching before I can blink twice.

Part of me thinks this way is the only way. Life is short, a voice in my head says, </i>and you better do all that you can while you can</i>. But another voice laughs and retorts, Don't forget to slow down and enjoy the ride. Life is short.

I want to learn how to slow down.
I want to learn the difference between challenging myself and driving myself mad.
I want to spend a day without a list of deadlines and to-do's.
I want to say--rather, shout out loud--No!
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Wednesday, October 13th, 2004

Time:3:19 pm.
Mood: loved.
Sitting there, I knew exactly what he meant. About feeling small. About feeling like a speck of dust in a pile of boulders. Compared to their stories, my childhood was candy coated and rainbow colored. Listening to them talk about what they went through, about what kids are going through right now, I felt as though I had grown up in a tiny gold case, sitting at the bottom of a velvet-lined jewelry box. Safe.

But the energy, oh man, the energy we generated. I can still feel it swirling in my stomach.

That we could come from all walks of life and down a drink or two and look each other straight in the eye and completely understand every word, spoken or unspoken, is magic. We surpassed class, race and status and dove directly toward truth, which we realized that's all any of us ever really wanted to reach.
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Tuesday, October 12th, 2004

Time:1:53 pm.
Mood: amused.
I was standing before a wall of Halloween costumes when a girl approached me. She was heavy-set and dark-skinned and dressed like she belonged at a Renaissance Fair.
"Can I help you find anything?" she asked.
"No, thanks," I said, "just trying to get ideas."
"Okay," she smiled.
Before she could walk away, I asked her if she knew what she was going to be for Halloween.
 "Nah, man," she said, "we just sold my costume. I'm so bummed. We just sold it."
 "What were you going to be?" I asked.
 "I was gonna be Chinese. I was gonna be all 'Konnichiwa' and everything," she said, putting her palms together and bowing before me. "Now I don't know what I'm going to be."
 Japanese? I thought.
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Monday, October 11th, 2004

Time:8:12 am.
Mood: morose.
Kathy Lewis, President and CEO of the Christopher Reeve Paralysis Foundation (CRPF) issued the following statement today in response to the death of CRPF’s Chairman, Christopher Reeve.

(Springfield, NJ) – “On behalf of the entire Board of Directors and staff of the Christopher Reeve Paralysis Foundation, we are deeply saddened and shocked by the sudden death of our Chairman, Christopher Reeve,” said Lewis.

Mr. Reeve passed away yesterday of heart failure. He was 52 years old. Mr. Reeve fell into a coma after going into cardiac arrest while at home. Reeve was being treated for a pressure wound that he developed, a common complication for people living with paralysis. In the past week, the wound had become severely infected, resulting in a serious systemic infection.

Mr. Reeve’s death was not a direct result of his spinal cord injury, but an example of how secondary complications can have fatal consequences for people living with paralysis.

He's in a better place now. And he's dancing, running, and doing all the things that he could never have imagined doing with his disability.
But nevertheless, his life and his hard work was an inspiration. As Kathy Lewis said, "Christopher was a hero to many people, yet he always said it was the ordinary people living with disability who were truly extraordinary."

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Saturday, October 9th, 2004

Time:8:24 am.
Mood: sleepy.

Gym class: a time of the day where my intelligence means nothing and my lack of coordination gets the best of me; when I am not only put on a team of people I hate but forced to cheer them on as well; when my last name suddenly becomes my first; when my vocabulary is limited to words or phrases such as: “ouch.” “I’m fine” “yeah” “good job”.

I really hate gym class


I had forgotten all about parties like that, about plastic silverware and plates, laughter and stories rising up to the ceiling. I had forgotten how much fun it can be, but last night, I was reminded when a friend asked us over.

The company, of course, made it even better. It had been months since we'd all been together, but we got along like no time had passed at all. I kept looking around the room, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time because I hadn't realized how much I missed it all. I just wanted to soak everything and everyone in. Stand-up comic antics, boys with lanky arms and poker face, high-pitched shrieks and hot pink streaks.
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Thursday, October 7th, 2004

Time:1:48 pm.
Mood: pleased.
It was the first night I couldn't sleep because of the cold. I kept tossing & turning & sliding further down my bed to find some warmth. When I mustered up enough energy to get out of bed and turn on my heater, I saw that it was 54 degrees.

Of course, now it's blue skies and sunshine all over again. Here, storm watches last longer than the actual storm.

Just now, I looked around my room, wondering what is different since last year. What have I accumulated this year? What have I swept away?

I feel a lot stronger and smarter. if i were here last year I would be crumbling. But I’m not. I am taking care of myself, finally listening to what i really want to do and then doing it, without worrying about anything else.

No fear, she says. It sounds so big and ridiculous and impossible. But they are good words to heed. If I could just stop listening to the doubt and insecurity and wonder in my head, I think I could make so much happen.
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Wednesday, October 6th, 2004

Time:2:10 pm.
Mood: contemplative.
It only took an hour and a half, enough time for me to grab a latte and cinnamon roll at the coffee cart, read Kurt Cobain's journal entries in an old Newsweek. I also made friends with a 2-year-old girl with pigtails tied with yellow pom-poms. I have no idea what she was saying, but she seemed to understand me fine.

This is where I get it from, I thought, the cheery disposition, the glass-half-full optimism, the mile-a-minute chatterboxiness.

Something's gotta gonna change.
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Tuesday, October 5th, 2004

Time:7:35 pm.
Mood: rejuvenated.
For once, I'm not afraid of reality.

Thank you, love. Thank you for opening my eyes.
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Monday, October 4th, 2004

Time:10:43 pm.
Mood: unsure.
Between studying and resting, I played treasure hunt in my bedroom today and I found so much good stuff: Classroom-passed notes and letters from crushes, Madonna cassettes and embarrassingly bad mixed tapes, clippings of magazine-published poetry and a folder of dot-matrix printouts. I could have easily spent hours digging through the treasures, remembering things from this or from that, alternately laughing and sighing at the beauty of it all. But I didn't.

It felt strange cramming my past into boxes and clearing up. Actually, it felt really kind of sad.

Frankly, I’m a little overwhelmed.

I am faced with everyone's expectations of me combined with my own expectations of me, when what I really wish I could stare straight in the eyes is what I want.

I am so good at seeing details, at embracing that which makes a moment, at falling in love with the tiniest thing, but I don't know what it is that would bring me a sustained happiness. A peace.

When I find it, if I find it, I wonder if everything really will fall into place, like they say it will. But that almost sounds too easy.
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Time:5:01 pm.
Mood: tired.
I don't normally like to dream out loud. I like to keep things secret until I know they are real. It’s a lack of confidence, maybe; a safety net because I think I might fall and I don't want you to be there when it happens.
But I want to be braver.
The process is just as important as the outcome. We’re all looking for something, right? Maybe if we look together, it will be easier to find the answers.
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Sunday, October 3rd, 2004

Time:5:20 pm.
Mood: disappointed.
Sometimes, I’m afraid I talk more about doing well than actually doing it.

I have so many grandiose plans about how to change the world, but I spend my days and my nights doing whatever pleases me. I look at others with critical eyes and don't hesitate to turn to whisper harsh words, yet I constantly fail to see my own shortcomings and faults. I am so good at making everything sound like a dream that I forget that sometimes the world is just harsh and cold and mean and there is nothing anybody can do about it.

When I talk about how lucky I am or mention how grateful we should be, I don't say it to be boastful or proud. I do it because if I don't constantly remind myself I will forget. I will get so wrapped up in myself, in my insecurities and desires, and I will trample on the people who mean the most to me, and I don't ever want to do that. I don't ever want to forget how I got where I am.
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Time:12:25 am.
Mood: deliriously happy.
The clichés, I have to admit, were right. That, too, did pass. Things only got better. What didn't kill me made me stronger.

This time last year, I felt like I was falling apart. But, almost magically, things got better.

A year later, and I cannot wipe this ridiculous smile off my face.

It's so strange how a bad day, no matter how recent or long ago, becomes so fuzzy in my memory. Like a made-for-TV movie I caught late one night. I am pretty sure it happened, and I remember it being pretty awful, but today, right now, I feel a hundred times better. I feel like maybe all that bad stuff happened to someone else, somebody still stuck in a frame on a reel of film somewhere at a television studio in Burbank.
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Friday, October 1st, 2004

Time:9:42 pm.
Mood: quixotic.
The clouds bled across the entire sky yesterday. I couldn't stop smiling. She and I stepped outside to get some air and a gust of cold wind shook us.

"It's so cold," she grumbled.
"I know," I said, "Isn't it great?"

I glanced at my coat rack before leaving the house this morning and, for a second, considered grabbing my gray wool scarf to wrap around my neck. Don't be silly, I told myself. It's not that cold. But soon it will be.

I remember how my cousin used to laugh at me for shivering on a 50-degree night, and I know that others who have lived in colder, harsher climates will probably do the same. I don't care. I will wear my coats and scarfs and hats this fall. I'll pretend it's Autumn in New York. I'll imagine I'm walking three hours in the snow just to get to school.
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Time:5:18 pm.
Mood: amused.
I finally changed the light bulbs in my bedroom. That’s one of those sentences that might sound really cryptic and horribly mysterious -- or perhaps like a play on the concepts of dark and light -- but it actually has no significance whatsoever. I just forgot how bright it gets.

Today, I twisted the stem of my granny smith apple, a turn for every letter of the alphabet, like I used to when I was younger. Except back then I always had a letter in mind: J for Jeremy, S for Sean, etc. The single stem was supposed to determine your romantic fate. It meant this boy was thinking of you. It meant you were meant to be.
Twist, twist, twist. A-B-C-D-E-F. F.
I thought for a moment, but there were no names that came to mind. I don't know any Fred’s or Felipe’s or Fabio’s.
I tossed the stem in the trash and took a bite out of the apple. It was a stupid game, anyway.
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Thursday, September 30th, 2004

Time:10:57 pm.
Mood: sick.
Well, I was as nonenthused as it is humanly possible to be today. Cared? Not at all. And yet time flew by as though I was duly interested in everything I did. I didnt really eat all that much today, at least I don't think I did. I don't remember. I had this gnawing ache in my stomach and all I could think about was yesterday. Peaceful, safe, painfully torn. I wish I knew my mind. But I've not felt safe in a long time.

I'd like to say I owned that civics test but if I didn't, I definitely 3/4thed it. Such is life, nothing I can do and frankly, I'm past caring. I'd rather write my life away. I'm close enough to being a Renaissance woman without aceing pointless civics courses. Oh, woe to me, right?

What's going down, you ask? I dont know. Ask me in a week. Or two. Or never. I'm just kind of, watching my life as though it was a mildly interesting television program. Its much easier to detach oneself that way.

Can you tell that I'm watching Family Guy.

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LiveJournal for __lawwhren.

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