Sunday, September 19, 2004


this weekend passed by me so slowly. All of a sudden, though, Sunday is here and I know that I have to go to classes in the morning. get the books out, search the web, get different books out, pretend to study, but instead write in my journal. It is a beautiful day and I can't see myself sitting inside all day long but that is exactly what I have done. Sat here and looked outside, listened to music and just sat. No doubt that I enjoyed it. I cleaned today. My little tiny dorm room that will never be clean.--dusting, cleaning, vacuuming, making it smell better. For me, cleaning is never a necessity, but ever since I was a kid, I go through cleaning spurts. When I know that I can't handle anything else, I look around me and decide that my life is dirty, too cluttered. So, I clean. I put things up on the walls, get out the pledge wipes and disenfectant and clean. It's almost therapeutic.

after I clean, my life is full of color. Under all of the dust and grime, beauty comes the finger paintings my friends made for me, in the flowers, the sky, the purse that I feel compelled to use. I see things more clearly, even if it is only until the next layer of dust comes and takes over.

the breeze from outside is blowing into my room. It brings me comfort and a sense of peace. But I know that this sense of peace doesn't really exist in my life right now. I am confused and withdrawn. I feel that I am more self absorbed but at the same time, unable to think about myself and my needs. oh, there was a big one. The whistling sound reminds me of when I was a kid and I hung out with a friend named Kate. We would sit outside for hours on end just laying in the grass and talking, looking at clouds, not worrying about what we would face. We were just kids. We didn't know that in a few years, Betty would die or that we wouldn't even be friends anymore. God, we were so naive. And not surprisingly, I would give anything to have a little of that childishness back. Now, I feel like I am constantly worried about what others are thinking about what others believe me to be.

oh well. screw them.


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