I am sitting at work wearing a thrift store sweater, waiting to leave. I started to contemplate my permanent float. My decisions are always flexible, my mind never quite made up.

I realized this and thought of Deena Polichiccio. She was in a play with me in high school. In the play, there were 7 or 8 girls. We were all supposed to be birds in a cage with different attitudes. I was the lead, the bird who wanted to fly the coop. There was the mean bird, the complacent bird, the happy bird, the nervous bird, the vain bird, and the permanently floating voter. Deena was the PFV. The big climax was when I was about to get out the door and desperately needed help. I needed a hairpin to pick the lock and get out. The PFV hemmed and hawed, and I tried to take her with me. I can't remember from the play whether or not she joined me, the wild bird, in my pursuit of life, liberty, and high school boys. I just know now that I've become the PFV and can't seem to kick myself in the ass hard enough to get out the cage door. This whole metaphor stinks and I hate it, but it's too appropriate and I can't take it away. I used to walk around and do stuff, just on a whim, because I wanted to do it. Not because someone else suggested it or because they might go along, but because I felt like driving a few miles away and staring at the stars. I felt like rolling around in the leaves and sniffing around in the smells of autumn despite the snot that wanted to congeal on my upper lip. I wanted to do things. Now I don't want to do anything. I wait for people to give me the activity ballot and I hem and haw and I mark "undecided" and I give it back.

I want my old me back. I barely remember her.
"In the beginning, God inhaled and created all of life. This is the Hindu creation myth. They have the same word for breath and spirit, as did the ancient Greeks. Over the years, I've realized that my brother is basically writing his own creation myth, although it's couched in evolutionary terms, since he's a vertebrate morphologist and studies the evolution of breathing. His basic premise is that the form and function of an animal, its morphology, will develop around its pulmonary system. All his tests and experiments with lizards, fish, birds and dogs rest on the underlying theory that the lungs and the pulmonary system always change and evolve toward increasing stamina and endurance; that is, the better the animal moves, the better it can find food and avoid becoming food for others. Always, the changes are driven by the need for more breath, and, to be metaphysical, more spirit or soul."

From "Running After Antelope"
Scott Carrier

I recently heard a visiting professor from Georgetown give a lecture on the compatibility of creationism vs. evolution. It doesn't really matter what his position was; but, personally I thought the lecture was a bunch of shit. However, I read the passage above last night, and it seemed so beautiful to me. (This, I guess proves that a good writer beats a certain kind of academic any day.)

You wanna know what pisses me off about movies?

When they cut to a scene that is made to seem like it's immediately after sex. The chick rolls off the guy, and lights a smoke. You know what little detail is in most movies when this happens?


Now, it isn't so much that I wanna see some booty. I'm one of the internet generation, I don't need a movie for it. It's just the realism of the whole deal. "Well, we're done fucking so we better get dressed and fall asleep."

Maybe it's my lack of sexual experience shining through here, but if my woman ever got dressed after I fucked her brains out just to fall asleep, I'd know she was WAY too uptight for me.

It's always the little things that piss me off.


Oh dear.

I came back, I was having an Easter vacation... The reason I didn't exactly come back was that I found something that was Sort Of Hard To Node from Kuhmo - an old song book of mine.

I think I'll node some melodies. I'll start with a folk tune about a fox. =)

Last night I played Steel Panthers: World at War, and I think it's a very very interesting game.

But today... no, nothing interesting has happened, I just wake up. Time to face the challenges of the day...


First, someone noticed that perl.com had one page that was generated with PHP. Now, I saw this URL...


Spot the paradox. Well, that's a mirror site so it may have other stuff as well, but this was sort of weird.

Tomorrow in Slashdot: "Oracle uses MS SQL Server"


Also spotted as a topic in newsgroups: "The President is an idot!" People are so smart - "es, em, ar"... d'oh...


Well, I noded some melodies. Enjoy. =)

Other day logs o' mine...

Noded today by y.t.: Steel Panthers: World at War kettu Maamme

Well it's my birthday today.
Kristi left Torino yesterday morning... it was a very nice visit and i'm already sad she's gone.
Back at work wearing a suit... not my birthday suit. Just got it back from the cleaners (there are bleach stains on the pants - won't be using those cleaners again).
I had promised to wear it for my collegues who hadn't see me in my monkey suit at the CeBIT.
Not much going on in my mind...

Recieved an email from an international bike touring company looking for free press. They are offering all-expense paid trips to journalists... and they have one here in Italy. I wonder how they got my name... but it sounds like fun... I wrote them back expressing my interest. Nothing like a free vacation... later I'll call Italy Daily up and pitch them the story.

Currently researching several expos we (Telecom Italia Lab want to attend... these include an MPEG-4 thingy in June in San Jose, the Internationale Funkausstellung in Berlin in August, the International Broadcasters Convention in Amsterdam in September and the Comdex in Las Vegas in November.

With my headphones attached to my ears, I once again find myself here, by the screen, letting my mind wander and have its say. As the days end, I find myself getting weaker, so much that I can't hide it anymore. Melancholy could be a good way to describe myself, but denial states that I bring my best foot forward to the world. Weakness, dependency, and animalistic rage has defined the day for today. Disappointed, I cannot change much, and hope that the happy music that I listen to will allow my moods to change with the rotation of the planet.

The dawn of the last night was beautiful, full of the smells of the spring breeze, combined with the clarity of the dawning sky. I step out onto the balcony, and experienced nature at its best. I hear voices in the distance, but too weak to understand. I look around to see who is speaking but then no one is there. Maybe I'm hearing voices in my head. I hold my arms out and stretch. Take a deep breath and speak a simple prayer. Reach for the door, feeling the cold plastic handle on my skin. I walk back into the darkness and feel a cold chill run down my spine.

I talk on the phone for a while. The conversation being typical but again, I listened intently. I listen quite a bit better than I speak. After a few hours, I release the hold that my cell phone has placed on me. I reach for my pillow, to reach the gentle land of slumber but again, my phone vibrates. I speak a little longer, before my Ativan takes control with the Mike's Hard Lemonade. I say my good nights and my sweet dreams and off I go.

The day started, with another phone call. But not a pleasant one. I don't speak much, just listen but what I do say, mean a lot. Initial salutations, a quick explanation and a goodbye. I head back to sleep. I wake up again, after noon. I was awaken this time by a phone call but this one was a definitely a more pleasant one. After a few hours of being with a sweet, sweet lady, I stay home. After a nice dinner bought from Yaohan, I start playing Brood War. My sister asks me to go to grocery shopping but she couldn't get herself off the couch. I didn't like that very much so I left on my own.

After a while, MrFurious and I play a game of DDR and a few games of Strikers. Shortly after, we head over to Chapters and grab a slurpee at a nearby 7-11. Home I go.

After a quick game of Brood War, I'm left alone. No phone call tonight. No distractions. Just me, myself and Korean music. Damn things. Cute singers, good melodies on their ballads, and mostly cute singers. Now I'm here, noding. I haven't said a word in about 4 hours, but thats okay. Now I am left to wonder how much of my self-control and self-esteem is left. I still can't tell my mother that I am going to Langara instead of UBC. I realize that its my fault but still doesn't change the fact that I still don't want to tell her. But thats okay. I'll enjoy the next two weeks I have for they may be the calm before the storm.

I started realizing why I listen to Asian Pop. Its music that I can remember without knowing the words. Its the melody that is important not the words anymore. I let my body swing to the melody now. No words are needed. They don't lose their meaning. Slowly, I take two Ativan and try to log out. I can't so I sit here. I think therefore I am. Whisper lightly, say a prayer. Let the light guide you to me. The dark needs no guide. It is everywhere.

Your sweetness dominates your existence. It seeps through every pore and every cell. When you touch me, I'm energized by these particles and become illated. Slowly, I am drawn into you, becoming part of you. But I can't, simply because I cannot be in your world. Its not that you won't let me, its simply because I don't want to hurt you. Come to me. Let temptation be your guide. Feel yourself flow into myself, and feel the cold embrace of the dark.
Today's all about perspective.

I woke up to find a long awaited letter from Tulane's Business School. It was thin, which might as well be the kiss of death, and so it was. Rejection. I find out whether I got into the other school I applied to in a few weeks. Until then, I'll likely do some temporary work (as I am unemployed).

Here's the perspective part (really). I got an email reply from a former coworker who I wrote to a day earlier, just checking in. Ends up she's at home, preparing for the funeral of her mother, who passed away last week. So here I was angry (frustrated, pissed, cranky...) about not getting into my 2nd-choice business school, while an acquaintance is burying her mother. I don't know. Business school doesn't seem as important anymore.

And so I approach the day a bit less shallowly than the past and take life just a little more seriously. Getting caught up in the ratrace and everything else, I lost track of my values and what matters to me. The sun will rise tomorrow, and so will I. Rejection doesn't seem to be that important anymore.

So ends my first ever day log

Q. Would you pay 160 bucks a month to use E2?

All right, first a brief dissertation on the premise behind the question. Today I paid my ISP bill. Normally I pay $AUD34.95 a month for access. This gives me 150 hours and no MB limit. This is usually more than plenty. Enough to surf around, get some news, Napsterize, stream some music, /., update my website and check the miserly statistics for the same site. March was different. I found E2. I Spent 190 hours online.

Here's the sad details.

In March, I...

1. Updated my site once.
2. Visited Slashdot only 3 times.
3. Slept about 24 1/2 hours.
4. Wrote and wrote more here at E2.

So what did I get for my 125 extra Australian bucks? (roughly 58 US dollars at our currently woeful exchange rate).

Well, I got E2. I get to learn, I get to contribute a little, I get to meet some A-Grade-people (Buono Notte to simonc, Freaek, Kalon, de-frag, Alex.Tan, Lignocaine, Trina and Gemini.

A. Yes (but I will be a little more cautious this month...)

I'm having trouble with sugar right now. So I just read the story of Jim, in the AA Big Book. Jim is the guy who was sent back to rehab four times, lost his business that he owned, his family, physical health before finding AA. He then stayed sober for a period of time, got a job, got his family back and his physical health. He then decided while at lunch one day, (no emotional issues that day, no problems,) that he could have a shot of whiskey in his milk because he had eaten a sandwich. He then proceeded to get drunk.

It didn't matter that he knew he would lose everything (as he had already done that) if he took even one drink - he was able to rationalize something incredibly stupid because of his addiction. This is me. Except I don't even bother to rationalize sometimes. It was helpful to read this. I was looking for some program material to read this morning and found the entire Big Book! Hopefully at lunch I can find some OA stuff.

My addiction is not going away today because I want it to. And every time I compulsively eat some sugar, I continue my emotional retardation. This is such a critical time for me. I'm reading a book written by a therapist and a DID patient, about integration and the phases (Bryant and Kessler, Beyond Integration). It goes into the details of the adult consequences of MPD if developmental levels are interrupted by abuse, dysfunction, neglect AND MPD splitting. My abuse is not nearly what this woman's was ritual abuse but I seem to have most of her symptoms in terms of the developmental interruptions. I also am beginning to suspect that my core self is about 11-13 years old. Which is really, really disturbing. I don't think I will ever catch up to others my age. I hate adults anyway, so right now I kind of don't care. I'd like to get to be about 25 though.

My therapist asked me last night how old did I feel, and my state of mind feels like 12, 13, very close. Full of self hatred, body hate and disgust, confused, conflicted.

I miss my inner selves, my people. They aren't there anymore, just their feelings. I am all alone now, and they aren't there to help me like they have been all my life. It feels terrible and awful and sad. I want to cry all the time.


(this will sit here until I'm done fuming...)

Then everything I write belongs in a daylog

The time has come for me to take a stand once again.

Must I only add to the daylogs? EVERYTHING I write belongs in a daylog according to some. Anne Frank would only be able to node in a daylog. It's called a style of writing. It is how I write best. Insights into human nature based on my own observations full of all kinds of self referential fluff.

If you actually read some of my daylogs you might say... Why did she put that there? Or you might say, Who cares? It's just a daylog. I put it there because of messages or softlinks from people who have no respect for this style of writing. "Put it in daylogs". "It's not worthy of it's own node". Or "Cut out the personal and it'll be OK for it's own node and not totally worthless".

Did you bother to find the common thread in the story? The deeper point I was trying to convey? Do I have to hit you over the head with the message? Sure it's from my point of view. I try to show the reader what I see through my eyes, much like Anne Frank did. Sometimes you need the personal to get the feeling across, otherwise it's just another soulless piece.

True, I could be taking this personally. Don't YOU take things personally? I take a lot of things personally. The underlying message I get from all of this is that daylogs are for those who can't write ergo I can't write. This is my perception from where I sit, right or wrong. I no longer have that tough exterior that many of you seem to hide behind. I tossed it aside, because it was too hard and cold. I try to show you what I've learned and what I've seen, because I feel it has value. I don't take the thought of "your node is worthless" too well. I take it personally. I know, I know...TOUGHEN UP and node!

I don't want to be tough and I don't want my style cast aside. I'll just have to sit on this a while until I cool off. That's all I can do because some of you won't change your opinions just because I asked it. We are all entitled to our opinions. I felt it was time to share mine.

/ Rant

Note to the softlinker below....DAYLOGS DO NOT SUCK!!!!!

That felt good...

Today I lost a friend. It's taken about 8 months but today was the end.

It started when Jenna said she was getting married to a man I'd never met, a 22 year old Kosovan refugee who she'd met 6 weeks ago in a pub while she was doing her finals at uni. I was mostly happy for her at the time, a bit worried that he was a refugee and suspicious at his motives for rushing the marriage but I tried not to let my prejudice get in the way of Jenna's happiness.

I travelled down for the wedding that was being held in a registry office local to the uni, not at home. Maybe because Jenna's mother died a few years back and it would have been painful to hold it there. Jenna was making her own dress from a shiny blue material and hadn't bothered to get a cake. The make-up was left last minute and her hair was a state. Chain smoking roll-ups and scratching at the rash on her neck, Jenna made her way to the Registry office followed by a few family members and old friends, flatmates and a group of 6 scruffy foreigners presumed to be linked with Julio, the man of the moment.

The ceremony was a farce. Julio couldn't understand the words he was supposed to say and reverted to saying "yes" to every statement. At the end, the vicar announced "as long as he knows what he's done". I could almost hear everyone thinking

"oh yeah, he knows alright, he's just won a free ticket to stay in this country".

As we left the office, I saw him give Jenna a hard slap and call her bitch, grinning at his mates. Drinking began, fights ensued, many tears, many cuts and bruises. That was the day that Jenna broke. She'd always been strong but that day she seemed so small and helpless. She stuck up for Julio and his trouble causing mates, she wouldn't hear a bad word against them. I have no idea why.

Later on it surfaced that Julio was only 17 years old and not from Kosovo but from Albania. He did not, as it turned out, go to any university or hold any job but instead relied on thieving from houses and cars with his gang of other aggressive Albanians.

So you'd expect Jenna to leave right? I know I wouldn't stick around for any of that crap. Or at least she'd try to get some distance on it yeah? But no, she didn't even blink, as if the lies weren't important.

I've seen Jenna cry, I've seen her family leave her from necessity, they just couldn't give any more. I've seen friends, including me, grow weary of trying to help someone who simply won't help herself. And now I can't see it getting any better until one of them dies. I pray that it's him and not her.

I will never understand how so many women can fail to recognise the huge steaming piles of shit dished out to them by their lovers/husbands. I mean, I know the first flames of desire and the rosy glow of a new relationship can help to mask the fact that he rips his toenails off with his teeth and leaves them on your bedside table. But when he's sleeping with other women, bleeding you and your family dry of money, thieving from your neighbours and still can't speak enough English to hold down a job (for which he has no British work permit anyway). He hits you, calls you bitch and slag every 10 minutes. He's been the sole reason that you have no friends left and are taking Prozac in a last ditch attempt to hold your sanity together. Yet still, you say over and over again that you love him. As if that were reason enough to excuse all the degradation and pain.

"I love him. I need him".


Love is respect and a willingness to walk an extra mile for someone you appreciate.

You need self respect, you need to love yourself just enough to realise that this stack of dung holding a gun to your head is not giving you anything to make your life better.

But there's nothing I can say or do to stop it. Apparently "there but for the grace of God go I". It seems that we females have some genetic dysfunctional tendency that leaves us powerless against the scummier dregs of the masculine gender.

Well, I can't believe that I could be that stupid or weak. Surely my lost friend is an exception and there's some hope for us all. All I can say is it hasn't done much for my perception of the unfairer sex.

I have found myself becoming more and more the center of attention, and I don’t think I like it. It appears as if I have become the hub of my clique, the leader of the group. All eyes turn to me when a decision is to be made, confident in my abilities to choose what will make everyone sublimely happy. Perhaps it is my complete lack of dependency that leads to others being dependent on me. It all balances out in the end somehow. Right?

Easter was a rather eventless day, despite the injury bestowed upon me by a very vicious feline. I have a gash across my palm that would do any razor justice, and yet it is from a single tooth of my grandma’s cat. I smacked the damn thing as soon as she bit be, and called her a nasty bitch-cat right in front of my elderly (and thankfully mostly deaf) grandmother. I don’t think nana heard me, although she did smile vaguely and continue walking towards the kitchen after pausing briefly during the ordeal.

My brother and I had the traditional family egg hunt, which consisted of the two of us searching desperately for the hundreds (literally) of plastic eggs full of candy and loose change my parents hid throughout the house. I found a total of sixty seven dollars to the penny in my egg collection, as well as sixty thousand calories worth of candy. These should both last me about four days, I’m guessing.

I had some friends over yesterday to work on a project for humanities class. We were told to appeal to the stoic view of happiness through a visual representation of a vacation package, make several thirty second commercials to show on various channels, and, for good measure, a few ads to put in the appropriate magazines of our choosing. We spent hours looking through National Geographic issues from 1990 I had found buried in the basement, trying to find inspiration, but failed miserably. We did make a lovely poster though; a collage of destitution to appeal to the "misery loves company" idea. I’m not sure how it represents a vacation, but I’m sure we can BS something on the spot. I am an expert in that field.

I also had Taco Bell for the first time in several weeks. I woke up at about 3:30 this morning and was violently ill, but still managed to make it to school. Wouldn’t want to miss my remedial English class I accidentally signed up for this semester and haven’t bothered to drop yet. We are read to every day by the teacher, usually from books most would consider to be at an eighth grade level. Sadly enough, I enjoy this class thoroughly on occasion. The other kids are so much fun. No one there possesses any sort of academic motivation, and we usually end up spending most class periods discussing the proper etiquette involved while smoking a bowl, or other similar topics.

This is an extremely random collection of thoughts and events, but as long as you’re free, nothing really matters.


As I mentioned in my previous log entry, someone systematically attacked my writeups, new and old, with negative votes. There seemed to be no other explanation except maliciousness.

It's happened again.

And I know it's the same person because it was a new batch of nodes this time, with no repeats. So I ask again...


If my nodes were really that bad, then why the previously positive votes I had received before this assault? I've even had a kind word or two sent to me (by fellow E2 denziens that I had never met before) after my previous log entry telling me that there didn't seem to be anything wrong with what I wrote in those nodes.

It's things like this that make E2 an enigma. But not one of those fun conundrums. No, more like a disconcerting puzzle that has no meaning other than to confuse and frustrate.

Well, whoever it is that's getting their kicks from attacking my nodes, at least I know that you will be out of votes (and nodes) to attack in a day or two. Your fun will be done and you'll have to go find some other silly way to entertain yourself.

Maybe there are some more paint chips you can chew on.

I've exchanged a few emails with Sara now, and everything's going to work out great. I think we are really going to honestly become "very close friends" (as she put it) and absolutely nothing more or less. I learned a whole lot about all of her interests and motivations and I shared all of mine with her. We are now very open to each other. We both have concluded that neither of us is interested in a relationship right now with anyone. We both just want freedom, but at the same time we both want someone we can flirt and cuddle with, but without any real meaning behind the actions. So I think this close friendship will be a great way for us to get what we both want.

I feel like now that I've been hurt a bit, now there's not so much to be afraid of in a relationship. I think I will be a lot more confident and act much more relaxed with the next person I become interested in. I don't have to be afraid of being hurt so much now that I know how it feels.

I just feel great today, knowing it's all settled and we're both still alright with each other. Now I've been through something I'd always feared, and I've come out of it with an evolved sense of myself and life in general.

so, i got up this morning feeling like i'd been kicked several times by a donkey, promptly put more lidocaine gel on my bright yellow sunburn, and wished my liver worked like it ought to. i prepared myself to write a paper that was due today and ditch class so i could go to the doctor. well, apparently that was not to be. a receptionist from the doctor's office called and said that my appointment needed to be moved to an earlier time. fine, i told her. then, an hour before i was due in, she called again and told me my appointment was cancelled and i could not reschedule because the doctor had retired. yes, retired. in the middle of a monday afternoon, with three more months of appointments before her scheduled retirement, she just quit. now, my problem with all of this is that i needed one ongoing prescription re-filed, and another one called in so i can kill off a very nasty infection that i've had for the last few months. i guess now i get to have it for a few more months. *shrug* it's miserable, but it hasn't killed me yet.

then, as i was sitting down to write my paper, the phone started to ring. of course, with my little brother so sick lately, i jump up to answer it. all eight times. two telemarketers, my uncle, my mom, my mom again, a wrong number, another doctor's receptionist, and my little brother. "of course, shinma-chan! you can come over and write your paper while i write my paper. no problem." except of course the loud pseudo-celtic music he likes to have on while he writes...don't get me wrong, i like the music, just not when i have to do something other than drink guinness and dance. so, he noticed me not writing, and took his paper and his music back home. finally, i am about 2/3 of the way through this paper, and i can't think anymore. writer's block. and my apartment is depressingly dirty. and my swamp cooler is broken. and the sewage pipes under the complex are backed up. why is it that when shit happens it all happens at once?

Hell week is about to begin.

Tomorrow is the first of many tests, the C programming exam. I know that I know the language... I am just hoping that I can convey that fact to my professor on the written part (put me in front of a computer and I can usually figure out the assigned problem).

Help! Death by exam: the college favorite (or so it seems).

And now, it's time to sleep...ZZZzzzzzz

I've been dragging my ass for the last couple days. This is how I start the week; very typical, if Garfield the fucking cat is any indication. Mondays suck. Mine are atypically bad cuz at breakfast I read a column my ex-editor writes. Don't ask me why; this is the dude who deflowered me and practically left me for dead, and then belittled me 'til I simply stopped coming to work. I am the last person to use vague phrases like "sexual harassment," which might be why it took so long to recognize it. Monday, his now-goateed mug topped a column about how much more liberal and enlightened he is than his redneck neighbors.

Tuesday, I drag my ass from class to lunch to boring therapy session (my second to last) to class to dinner to Take Back the Night.

My girlfriends dragged me into it, and I was somewhat reluctant and surly (excuses: I had homework yet, my left contact lens was sticky and I planned to leave any minute). It seemed like a silly college thing to do, and it did not help that the singer at the rally sang and talked exactly like Ani di Franco. I scanned the quad for exit paths. Nonetheless. A group of high school girls gets up and performs some sort of cut up of monologues on rape. You hear words like "worthless" and "powerless" in this context, after a very long day and a very long year (the year those words defined me), and your tear ducts open up like a fuckin' fire hose. That was good. But it's not the best part:

The best part is my ex-boss - the misogynist Navy prick-cum-sensitive goatee man, the man who dug my very rut (and can we talk about cervical damage?) - decided to make the world a better place by participating in the Take Back the Night rally. It's not that I begrudge him his newfound liberalism - or any man, for that matter. At least, I wouldn't find it odd at all, if he had looked me in the eye and/or apologized for his previous transgression.

Maybe I should be disappointed that I don't get on the mic and expose his particular hypocrisy, his violence. But it seemed like poor form, and frankly, though that event empowered me beyond anything else that's happened in the last year, I was still afraid to confront him. His body is strong, but worse, his tongue is sharp, has carved me to a nub before.

I forgot to say how beautiful it was: carrying candles and getting kind of gawked at (but at least not harassed) by the frat kids and neighbors, breaking down publicly and getting held, and walking. Walking. I don't do enough. I'm not a victim anymore. I'm present in a way I haven't been for months.

I get by with a little help from my fiends...I mean friends.

I can say what I want to, right? Hmmm....No, really. Today really is the first day of the rest of our lives.
Three weeks falls on three months, three months falls on five months, five months falls on the 17th.

Life's gonna be lonely, but the wind is brisk, flowers are blooming, plans are falling in together snugly. And there's no possibility that life can be as lonely as it has been. Friends, family and sex,thrw it all up into the air, and whatever you're left holding when the music stops playing is what you get to keep.

I know I'm in good hands. When I get sick of dancing with mutables and fixeds, I return to my cardinals. There is an energy in people who are initiators that makes me feel secure and invincible. The love is undeniable, it is white hot and banked. Regardless of other people, I know it doesn't matter that I'm female, and yeah, the plumbing fits together. I'm still regarded as a contemporary,not a giggly object to be held and owned.

So I'm a dirty little secret.....your point?

I have three employers fighting over me, and the stakes are getting raised. Wanted there. That's never a bad thing.

Last night I dreamt I was back in Tampa and Clearwater. Still raising hell, even in my dreams. But upon waking, I realized there was no more hell to raise because I go abou things diplomatically now. I don't jump up and down hissing, spitting. I sit there, dance there until the craziness has a chance to settle. I talk things through.

I'm proud of me for being able to finally let go. I'm proud of me for no longer being angry. When I say I'm not afraid of anything, I mean it. When I say I can bear anything, I mean it. Fragile I am no longer......and I can prove it.

I saw a little girl and her mother come into the store the other day. Sunday morning, actually. The little girl was opening everything, picking everything up and marvelling at it. Her mother was marvelling at her, her face lit up and glowing. And I cried because I couldn't help it. The drugs were just about out of my system, and I was floating. I thought, "I admit it. That's why I did it. Why I did it all." And the mother grinned at me as she led her little girl out the front door. There's a chance for new beginnings for everyone, they just don't always include everything or everyone you were sure would be there. No matter. That's life.

It's still love, it just has no perameters and no expectations. Ask for what you want, give all you have to give, and you will find a niche for yourself. And forgive, even if it changes something so large within you that you don't recognize yourself in the mirror anymore. Forgiveness doesn't mean making everything right, it means letting go of the bits you cannot change.

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