so i started this on june 26, 2004. its been just about a year.

i never write in it anymore. the whole journal is like someone else's now. i read back into some of the stuff i wrote about last summer, or even last winter, and its not my life anymore. the title isn't even my life anymore.

i think this is gonna be my last post.

i'm going to thailand in october, october 20th. i'm excited and scared. i'll be living in a hut on the beach for five months, which is amazing, but...its thailand. thats a long way away. about 18 hours by plane.

school here changed me. i think it made me more normal. people here are normal. and it rubbed off on me. i don't lie anymore. my life isn't dictated by alcohol. i dress a lot better, haha. but those are the upsides. the downside is that i can't have fun anymore, i don't know why. i used to enjoy myself, look at the situation i was in, and this GOD this is so cool. i'm at a club in amsterdam, i'm buying chanel in westchester, oh my life is beautiful. but it wasn't, and now i can't find anything so beautiful about it anymore. i guess thats why i'm going to thailand. all the stuff that used to be important to me...drinking, hooking up, makeup....its not really that important anymore. i wonder if thats because i'm older, or for some other reason? now, i'd rather just go swimming in a lake with real friends. or spend a day in rhode island on a boat. i just don't care what i look like to other people as much anymore....not that i've transcended society to become mother theresa, but you know. its just different than it used to be.

maybe it was school, or summer, or the beach, or maybe it was that guy from school. i don't really know how to explain it without sounding like a complete asshole. but hes a real person. like, sincere, genuine. and thats so different. and he never said i was hot. he said i was gorgeous. and all that other shit...it doesn't really matter. and i guess i have to find some kind of contentment in it, that even if it never goes anywhere, we never date or anything, i can take that away. that there are guys out there who'll say you're gorgeous and not hot, who just hold you hand without saying anything. i know it sounds stupid but its so real and so comforting to know that people like that exist.

i guess...that after this past year, i have a little bit of peace. that everything in this journal, starting last summer, was chaos and depression and manic happiness but nothing ever, ever was peaceful. and moving from the states to germany and back to the states was the hardest year of my life. i don't know whether i regret it or not yet, but...if nothing else...at least at the end, i understand myself a little bit better. and i guess that's all you can really ask for, right?

To a Dog Injured in the Street

by William Carlos Williams

It is myself,

not the poor beast lying there

yelping with pain

that brings me to myself with a start -

as at the explosion

of a bomb, a bomb that has laid

all the world waste.

I can do nothing

but sing about it

and so I am assuaged

from my pain.

A drowsy numbness drowns my sense

as if of hemlock

I had drunk. I think

of the poetry

of Rene Char

and all he must have seen

and suffered

that brought him

to speak only of

sedgy rivers,

of daffodils and tulips

whose roots they water,

even to the free-flowing river

thats laves the rootlets

of those sweet-scented flowers

that people the

milky

way

I remember Norma

our English setter of my childhood

her silky ears

and expressive eyes.

She had a litter

of pups one night

in our pantry and I kicked

one of them

thinking, in my alarm,

that they

were biting her breats

to destroy her.

I remember also

a dead rabbit

lying harmlessly

on the outspread palm

of a hunter's hand.

As I stood by

watching

he took a hunting knife

and with a laugh

thrust it

up into the animal's private parts.

I almost fainted.

Why should I think of that now?

The cries of a dying dog

are to be blotted out

as best I can.

Rene Char

you are a poet who believes

in the power of beauty to right all wrongs.

I believe it also.

With invention and courage

we shall surpass

the pitiful dumb beasts,

let all men believe it,

as you have taught me also

to believe it.

THE STOLEN BERRIES (Answer these questions...the interpretation follows).



1.  On a stroll through the countryside, you come across a field of delicious-looking strawberries.  Your stomach starts to rumble, and no one else is around.  Only a fence stands between a free lunch.  How high is that fence?

well....i'm short. so it would have to be only 4 ft.

2.  You sneak into the garden and begin to help yourself to the fruit.How many berries do you eat?

haha as many as i want, strawberries don't have thaaaat many calories

3.  Suddenly the farmer whose berries you're stealing appears out of nowhere and starts yelling at you.  What do you say in your own defense?

i thought the fence was for decoration?

4.  After all is said and done, how did the berries taste?  And looking back, how did you feel after your berry-stealing adventure was over?

the berries were awesome. and it was fun. and i like getting in trouble.


-------------------------------------


Key to the Stolen Berries (interpretation)

Strawberries-seductively juicy and red-are a common symbol of sexual
attraction and desire.  They way you envisioned this scenario helps us to
understand your attitude toward forbidden romance and stolen love.

1.    The height of the fence you imagined around the field is a measure
of your own level of self-control and resistance to sexual temptation.  The
higher the fence, the greater your own defenses.  People who imagined a
total enclosure exercise admirable restraint.  Those of who said it was only
a string tied around some beanpoles at about knee height run a higher than
average risk of getting burned by the flames of love.

2.    The number of berries you said you would steal is the number of
people you can believe yourself in love (or lust) with at any given time.
IF you said you'd quit after eating just one, you're likely to be faithful
in your own love life as well (or at least a devoted serial monogamist).
Those of you who got into the double digits may need to think seriously
about applying the brakes on your libido.  Nobody can keep that pace up
forever.

3.    The excuses you made to the farmer represent the way you'd defend
yourself if you got caught having an affair.  What was your excuse?

"I'm sorry. I promise I'll never do it again." Sometimes a full confession
and a promise to behave is the best way to get yourself off the hook.

"They looked so good, I just couldn't help myself."  Well, actually you did
help yourself-to somebody else's berries.  But honesty is the best policy.
After all, it worked for George Washington, didn't it?  If you keep it up,
maybe someday you could be president, too.
"Hey those berries were great!  Do you mind if I have a couple more?"
Farmers have shotguns.  Spouses have lawyers.  Fortunately you still have a
chance to reconsider your choice of words.

4.    The way you described the experience and the taste of the berries
give an indication of how you imagine yourself feeling when looking back on
a past affair.

"Actually, they didn't taste as good as they looked.  The whole thing wasn't
really worth the effort."  All too true for most affairs. Chalk it up to
expereince and put it behind you.

"So sweet!  So juicy and delicious!  I've never tasted anything like it!"
Uh, let's just say you're addicted to love.

"The berries were nothing special, but all in all it was kind of fun."
Statistically speaking, you're in the high-risk group for repeat offenders.

********************************

oops.