Spent most of the afternoon at Paradiso reading Communities in Cyberspace while the NaNo kids worked on their novels. I read until my eyes hurt, and then I had a milkshake with Carl. The semester will be over soon enough – but until then, I think I’ll mainly be in seclusion. Thanksgiving was good. I accomplished nothing over break – absolutely nothing – except some reading and lots of relaxing and some family togetherness. I took pictures of things at thrift stores. I saw Capote. I found out that I went to preschool, and that one of my preschool classmates is a friend I met in Champaign twenty years later. I’m rereading The Gunslinger. I have to give a presentation tomorrow morning and I’m totally stressing.

Less than two weeks til the end of the semester. I can do this, and then I’m going to waste at least three days playing Tetris, sleeping in, and doing nothing. Oh yeah, and then I’ll finish my PhD application. I can do this.



i want to write our history of missed opportunities on my skin, and i want one day for you to read it back to me, peeling away gossamer layers of fabric and lace to find the veiled secrets of what was, what might have been, and what is still to come.

in brief

i am very tired, and unable to really form proper sentences, so i’ll let this comic explain the last couple of weeks:

news in brief:

  • need a $1200 root canal (have >$500 in the bank)
  • thanksgiving break starts today
  • paper due yesterday being written today
  • nothing due after this til december 8
  • spain’s out for the spring – hopefully later
  • davenport-rockford-chicago run coming up soon
  • subversion in a new location, in love with the dance floor
  • dropped out of nano as of an hour ago
  • the end’s in sight!
  • [untitled]

    there is a rhythm to it – always a rhythm to that secret vocabulary of touch, the dialogue of eyes and hands, the way my body moves with yours against it. when i am with you i am nowhere else, and i think you know that, and you know that this kind of love is unique because all we have to do is hop to the side a bit and we’re somewhere where no one else can find us. you are a man who loves well, and i a woman who loves deeply, until there’s nothing left, and because of this we drink in these moments of rough-voiced singers and martinis like the ocean in my mouth with arms and hands and eyes and lips and exhaled smoke curling to the tin ceiling. some day we will love until there’s nothing left, and then we will sit quietly and say “remember how it was when?” and we will nod and it will be enough.