I just got a new phone - a palm centro! It is pink as cotton candy and it's going to be an awesome help for school - I'm thinking of a name and I'd love it if I could figure out how the darn thing works.

Ohmybuttons! Ohmymenus! Ohmy where the heck is the wallpaper screen?!?

Either no one's txted me in two days or I can't figure out how to make that work, either.

I don't think I have the right gmail password in here.

Again - I just want to see date and time and a pretty picture. IS THAT SO WRONG?!

...I know this phone is unlike anything I've ever had, but I don't like feeling so dumb.

I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS - I HAVE TO MAKE A SKETCHBOOK AND FINISH READING FOR ART HISTORY TOMORROW. Oh, which idea (that I have for a sketchbook) is brilliant, by the way, and also costs me no money at all.

Someone txt me and see if I get anything? Please?

...

I should go to bed. I have to be up at 5, take the bus at 6 and sit through 3 classes thereafter.

I can only find 6 numbers in here. I'M DOING IT WRONG.

Hello, Skye.

You are thrashing about, doing more harm than good.

Let's talk about this.

First... put down the flamethrower. You're going to put someone's eye out.

I know it feels like you are awkward and gawky to a level heretofore experienced only in jr high school. I am here to tell you that unfortunately it's not untrue, BUT it's also for the best. You are unsure what to expect (or how to dress, or act, or...) for school, uncomfortable in social situations because you feel like you are a noob with nothing to add to the conversation, and you feel like no one understands you or really cares about your life other than your sister.

...wow, that IS like jr. high. You remember how you had to go to school for the first few days of St. Margaret's in street clothes rather than the uniform that everyone else had to wear? You wore 'cool clothes' - I remember the cut-up, off-the-shoulder 80s style Mickey Mouse sweatshirt with stovepipe jeans specifically - and though you were quite the popular thing in your public jr high, you were nothing in St. Margaret's; your clothes, cool or not, only served to emphasize the difference between you and every other rich, been-there-since-first-grade person at that school. Yeah, you were alone that year and most of the next, weren't you? In jr. high you didn't have a friend who cared about you, not even a sister (poor dear, going through her own things) - you'd read walking the halls or at lunch, your nose always buried in a book. You were lucky if you had a conversation a day with anyone at school. You understood something was wrong with you - being the only one in all the world who was alone, you must have deserved it. Everyone must have been able to see the Broken you couldn't seem to find, to fix. How sad, but that was just the way things were.

I can see you're going to cry; sorry, Skye, sorry. I have a point. Should I tell you it? Ok.

( All that time, at St. Margarets - it wasn't so bad. )

I worked all day today and I closed the shop alone at 8:30, after which I came home and bullied Court into stopping WoW and helping me clean the kitchen. She mostly hovered about behind me while I cleaned and she also complained that I was leaving all the 'icky parts' for her.

"Ok you want to unload the silverware?" I fumed, "get your butt over here any time of the frickin' day and do it, then. Jeeze. You don't want to what... wipe counters? Put away food that you've left out all day? Take out the overflowing trash? FINE, then come over here and finish the dishes that I started putting away when I got up this morning, early, and did before I went to work all day."

And that is as close to an argument as we'll get.

I finished unloading the dishes, put away/threw away food, washed and loaded the dishes, washed all the pots and pans, took out the trash. I don't know what she did - I don't care. It has to be done, whatever, I'll do it.

( This would be a great place for a nice long rest. Alas, NO. )

Oh my poor broken heart. Oh my disappointment. Oh my emogirl. Oh my ANGER and also hotness because I had been working HARD and do you know how hot it is in my room?!? HOT hot.

So I guess it's time to go to bed, but I can't help but feel that I have booked a cruise on the Failboat - my room's a DE-ZAS-TER, my computer doesn't work, it's way late, and I have been tired for hours. Waaah!

I am going to eat TWO scotch eggs tomorrow at the Ren Faire and also buy myself a ring - a RUBY ring - because I am good and pretty and smart even if I am right now cranky as an old woman, covered in dust, and cannot make my "It's an Apple! It doesn't hardly need a USER, it's so easy!" work for crap. Everyone knows buying pretty things restores your self-worth as a person, right? Right?

Hmpff!

Dear ch4rm,

Picking the kids up from the first day of a week-long afternoon soccer camp, the first thing I noticed is they were BEAT. Tired and red-faced and dirty beyond belief. Walking slow and with a slump, they shuffled to the car... and Paris didn't stop to hug me, which just doesn't happen. Cai had been crying - I saw him on the field with his coach - but he likes to talk about things in his own time (and then he likes no not STOP talking, but that's another story) so I left him alone. Maddie was snarling sub-vocally, almost.

I could see they had HAD IT so I pulled the 'ol "Let's go get chocolate shakes!" which had a tiny effect - still, Paris wasn't talking, Cai was tearing up sometimes and Maddie was downright cranky. After 15 minutes of me chattering about funny things and some tasty shakes later, everyone was cooling off and I got some stories.

( Anyone remember community organized sports? Yeah. Under here, with pics. )

Wish us luck,

-S

Maybe you didn't notice, but I stopped blogging about it.


I like to move. Move on, move up, move along. I make mistakes like the next girl but I try to analyze them, turn them every-which-way about and learn from my choices... but never, ever do I want to sink into regret. Regret is an anathema to me because it implies an involuntary inability to move on - you walk forward but some vital part of you is back there, in the past, and you cannot go back and retrieve it. The best you can do, with regret, is cut off the piece of your soul that's stuck back there in the past and hope that you heal clean and don't leave tattered bits hanging out that'll catch on the present. But like an old man, your regret is an injury that's gonna pain you when the weather hits just right, an ache that you can't do anything about and can only hope goes away fast. And often, regret brings a dirty diseased bit of the past into the clean present, contaminating Now with drug-resistant strains of guilt or hate or anger.

*shudder*

( This post is about the end of my divorce, tomorrow. I would not call this a happy post. )

I stopped blogging about my divorce, and I'm sitting here in this dark room just being with my thoughts, because my marriage and divorce is something that eventually I'm going to leave in the past. And my memories of all this won't be littered with bits of my heart and soul but instead clean, full of adventure and grace and beauty and love. I have faith that I'll have learned from it; my marriage made me who I am and I'm grateful, and so did my divorce and I suppose I will find the humility to be grateful for that, too. In the end, I hope that this whole story, and everyone in it, gets a happy ending. It'll be a surprise ending now, for me at least, but in the end I hope we all live Happily Ever After.