i keep a ton of journals. maybe it would be better to call them books. because they aren't really journals... they are collections of random everythings that happen to me throughout whatever i happen to be doing, randomly. yeah, screw you too mr. grammatical underliner guy. anywho. found a rad journal that sadly, like many of its brothers... only had a few pages filled. i have this thing with beginnings. i love them. not too keen on the ending thing yet. maybe it's my preference for keeping my options open... closure scares me. it's so... definite. i like second, third, and twenty eighth chances.

... back to the point ...

so i found this book, with a beaded pattern on the cover. i remember this. joe-nell got me this for Xmas of 2001. i remember seeing it in B&N with her one night and admiring it... but saying i could never spend $14 for a beaded cover made by struggling women in India. heh. she bought it for me anyways. the first page has, written in silver ink, my handwriting, next to a sticker torn off of the back wrapping "Hand Crafted in India... SWEAT SHOP!"

then there is an entry about my sociology of gender exam. i loved that class.

but the last written page in the book is from February 14, 2002. Vagina Day. Blue ink... the thick kind from my preferred felt tip marker pen things.

I wish writing was still new.
Like love.
Challenging, exciting - requiring your upmost attention.
It always felt so urgent.
Sadly enough...

it was.

It fades very quickly.
If love could only be one long, swift and smooth line of ink.
And life.
Thousands of neatly-bound, inviting - blank
sheets of paper.
Movies and television take care of that
feeling of urgency now.
They package and serve all of the emotions
for you.
So with very little personal involvement, one can
become a part of and an expert on love.
What is the point if you don't place a
personal investment?
It isn't yours. It's just there.
You can't change it... or mold it.

(turn to back of page)

Or make it really mean anything to you at all.





now... being the end of march 2003... how on earth do i follow an entry like that? i never cease being surprised at myself. but even moreso... i never cease being surprised at timing. i know just where this needs to go. ugh hug to justin.