I love N-Wing and RST, because they are still debating the finer points of HTML (as parsed by the chatterbox and by the nodes,) long after I got up, wandered around, waved my arms to the groovy licks of Len Cariou in Sweeney Todd, took a shower, and sat back down to node some more.
It has been a wonderful day. Rain outside. Grayness. Daniel Pinkwater on the radio.
- / +

Colleen Morrisey snapped her femur in two today. She was racing on the blacktop like we've told them a million times not to do. Mr. Byrne sent the others in for ice. I thought it was a joke, some weird plot to score ice, because Wade Weldon couldn't stop grinning, but his voice kept getting higher and I realized he can't stop grinning.
They said there was no blood, but her leg was bent a way it should not bend. She was out of her head with pain and didn't understand. She grabbed Wade's shirt and kept begging him to do something. He was pretty shaken.
I said something like, oh, poor Colleen, why did this have to happen to such a great kid and then felt dumb for saying it - as if I would wish this on a meaner kid.

Today in the mail I got another tshirt I do not understand why I got it, a letter asking me to save the cows or something, an AOL cd, mentos, and a book from my ex. It looks good. The note with it was better. I'd like to reply but I am afraid to let him witness me being nice; he would love me for it. This is not ego; it is fear.

Another meeting, and we've spawned a new committee. And somehow i've volunteered to head it. This is a volunteer organization - leadership has no perks. However. However, if the busybody that insinuated herself can be rid of, we've got a really cool group: 1 math teacher from France (Smith College) and 1 from Argentina (Amherst College), plus two graphic design professionals. So this could work out well. Our new little meeting space is the size of the smallest dorm room i've ever been in, next to the Salvation Army office. Everybody crammed in and sat on folding chairs and on the floor. I'm starting to feel like this might really happen (we're working to start up a storefront consumer co-op in Northampton).

It's raining, my feet are wet, it's my own damn fault, really. These sneakers have had holes in them for almost a year, but i like them. My "boyfriend" comes out when i call and ask if he wants to get food. But he's hidden in his hood and complains and complains that it's winter, it's cold, why are we walking all over town? Frack. I should just punch him. But i don't. I don't even tell him that my feet have been wet for hours, i've had to pee for almost that long, i'm hungry and it's almost 10 pm and i haven't been home since quarter to 7, i'm tired, dead so, and i don't feel like putting up with his attitude. I just tell him it's not that cold and to toughen up, this is New England. We pass some people talking, a woman believes strawberries grow on trees and her friend (who knows better) does not correct her.

There are few people at Joe's, and the most audible booth is six down from us. They're discussing truth. A bridge might work, but it's not true. We sit still and don't say anything, with our respective beers in front of us. We realize that they are christian boys, with some some woman old enough to be their mother quizzing them on Biblical and philosophical theories and flirting with them. I pressure "boyfriend" to tell me what he's thinking. He answers me! He's thinking he's glad he's not sitting at that table. I'm thinking i'm sorry i'm not. At least they're conversing. Also, it becomes clear that these boys are pretty much dogmatists and in need of a good tweak before their minds are set in stone. I love perpetrating a good gentle mind tweak.

I try to engage "boyfriend" in conversation, but it turns out badly as always. I ask him why he spits out the word intellectual as if it were sour and rotten. I ask him a bunch of other things. I cajole. I flatter him, and failing that, we almost discuss the discussion we're eavesdropping on. Eventually he slumps lower and tells me that i always do this - i always make him feel stupid when i talk to him. That stings - it's similar to something my mother told me. I don't want to be like that. I just want someone to talk to.

      <apology>I am venting. I realize there are people out there who don't like day logs, and this isn't a particularly fun or good one. But it's part of my Everything. And Everything is pretty much the only chance i get to "talk" to intelligent people most of the time. So please, bear with me and skip this if you don't like it.</apology>

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