so I found this on my computer. I still feel it.

from Oct. 13 journal:

and better than wine
if love has a hangover, that’s ages away
I’ve been collecting perfect moments each day

make sure you know
no matter how this will grow

sober, in the sunlight

I fell
who can I tell?
tell the world
tell them all
yes, I did fall

and do I care?
and really
it’s not where
you’re from
that matters so much
as where you’re going

don’t give a fuck
how you grew up

something set this
it’s too perfect for chance
it’s a story to tell

I’m in love
I’m love
you’re love
my love
oh
love

why don’t I write anymore?

The internet is so seductive.

Anyway, I’m home.

The musical was fantastic, especially given some of the circumstances.

Oh Facebook Honesty Box, how you beckon. But on the other hand, you actually got some real information out of me and someone else. Relationship improving information.

MSN + webcam = long distance face-making at someone special. Once he gets his ass to Future Shop, we may start Skyping so we can SAY inane things while making faces, instead of just typing them.

Once you start thinking about being profound, it gets much harder.

I don’t even journal a lot anymore.

This must be fixed.

why I wish it was Tuesday

1. This is an essay weekend. On Tuesday it’ll be done done done.
2. No class on Tuesday.
3. St. Patrick’s day is Tuesday.
4. 2 + 3 = EPIC.

I’m getting good at making money on Gaia.

But my journal is lonely for me.

Must… get… off… internet…

handwritten . . .

. . . and in French.  And no, I’m not talking about a literal eggplant.

letter

Dear me,
You can do this, okay? You’re a big girl, and you’ve been handling it so far. You’re not going to let this distract you from dance concert, or academics, right? You can get through this if you try.
You’re not quite seventeen and half, you have so much life ahead of you (I hope), he’s just one person.
I promise you you won’t die over this.
Love, me

“Technicalities” (written last year)

I shouldn’t have said what I said about horses
horses and riders
in castles of air
I shouldn’t’ve dropped hints all over the ground
where they could be found by
anyone who’d pick them up
I shouldn’t just wait
until it’s too late
it’s already happened
I already have
I shouldn’t have wished
so imprecisely
that’s how wishes go wrong
why haven’t we learned?
we’ll always be burned
by the gift of three wishes
it’s just like a fire and never a warning and
there’s no returning it
so you get what you wish for
but not what you want

—–

I wrote this poem last year, based in part off of a journal entry. Posting it here because I never put it anywhere public. (I did submit it to my school’s litmag, but that hasn’t come out yet this year.)

I’ll try to write something more later, but I have selection day for the school dance concert for a lot of the day. Much excitement! I choreographed a solo, let’s see if it gets in . . .

worried . . .

My journal, the paper one, went missing sometime today at school.  That’s a bunch of very personal thoughts and feelings roaming the campus with yes my name attached (not to mention my home address, email address, and phone number).  That’s a worrisome thought.