:: The Freewheelin' Di Winson ::

The lyrics of my life, along with various musical selections
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JUN 66: I am 14 months old in this photo, and I am smiling because I have a new baby sister ... or maybe because I have just peed in the pool.
[::..About Me..::]
I am an American.
I type really fast.
I am left-eye dominant.
I brush & floss regularly.
I am not as funny as I think I am, sometimes.
I was born on Easter.
I believe in music.
I play tennis.
I do not work quietly without disturbing others.
I am a procrastinator.
I watch certain movies just because I know they will make me cry.
I am not my fucking khaki cargo shorts.
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:: Saturday, May 31, 2003 ::

Leave 'em smilin' when you go

The day began with a smile. And I was all happy again.

: )

I AM the pilot. Of this life.
:: Di 11:13:00 PM [+] ::
:: Friday, May 30, 2003 ::
Some things are better left unread.

Yeah. I re-read something I shouldn't have today. And it left me feeling worse and missing her more than I have in quite some time.

I must not do this again. Until I need to relive that glorious feeling of being deliriously happy and completely miserable, all at once.

Which, hopefully, will be the day after never.

Now playing: "Softly Over" by Yaz.

It's over, there's nothing more to say
silent comes the night time, end another summer's day
I can just remember, or is this the dream that never goes away?

:: Di 4:29:00 PM [+] ::
:: Sunday, May 25, 2003 ::
You are the pilot.

OK, I admit that occasionally, I take these silly Quizilla quizzes ... but only the ones that interest me and seem kinda cool.

: )

This one is based on my favorite book, The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Turns out, according to my answers, I am the pilot. Which I wasn't all that crazy about being, really, until I thought about it a little while.

You are the pilot.

Saint Exupery's 'The Little Prince' Quiz.
brought to you by Quizilla

Yeah, maybe I AM the pilot.

Anyway, I took it a second time. This time, I was the little prince.

But come to think of it, I am more like the pilot.

:: Di 10:37:00 PM [+] ::
I am unofficially giving notice that I am officially giving up.

My life is easier/better if I simply do not give a fuck. So ... I give up.

Song in my head, right now: "I'm Looking Through You" by the Beatles. Only the version in my head is the one by the swooniful Jakob Dylan and the Wallflowers, from the I Am Sam soundtrack.

(She told me the previews alone made her cry, and that made me adore her even more.)

I'm Looking Through You

I'm looking through you, where did you go
I thought I knew you, what did I know
You don't look different, but you have changed
I'm looking through you, you're not the same

Your lips are moving, I cannot hear
Your voice is soothing, but the words aren't clear
You don't sound differnt, I've learned the game.
I'm looking through you, you're not the same

Why, tell me why, did you not treat me right?
Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight

You're thinking of me, the same old way
You were above me, but not today
The only difference is you're down there
I'm looking through you, any other way

Why, tell me why, did you not treat me right?
Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight

I'm looking through you, where did you go
I thought I knew you, what did I know
You don't look different, but you have changed
I'm looking through you, you're not the same

:: Di 1:42:00 PM [+] ::
:: Thursday, May 22, 2003 ::
We sang songs of the era — not well, but enthusiastically.

Actually, this entry should have been titled, "Fuck!", because that's what I JUST said after I hit the magic key that sends me to the previous screen, thus deleting everything I had typed to that point. However, because the quote above makes me smile so damn much, I am not going to give in to my temptation. And I will save "Fuck!" for another day.

Now playing on my stereo: "In My Room" by Yaz, from Upstairs at Eric's.

Still playing in my head: "Nobody's Diary" by Yaz, from You and Me Both. The very first Yaz song I ever heard, off the very first Yaz CD I'd ever heard of. Actually, it was a cassette tape ... or maybe an album? I truly do not remember; all I know is that I was introduced to Yaz by My Very First Girlfriend (as if there have been hundreds), and I will always adore it. As much for her as for that other girl it reminds me of. (That previous sentence reminds me of a joke about a boy who told a story, and his last sentence ended with a preposition, and his teacher told him never to end a sentence with a preposition, so he says the same sentence again, only this time, he ends it with the word "asshole"!)

Nobody's Diary

If I wait for just a second more,
I know I'll forget what I came here for.
My head was so full of things to say,
but as i open my lips all my words slip away.
And anyway,
I can't believe you want to turn the page,
and move your life onto another stage.
You can change the chapter, you can change the book,
but the story remains the same if you'd take a look.

For the times we've had, I don't want to be — a page in your diary, babe.
For the good, the bad, I don't want to see — a page in your diary babe.
For the happy, the sad, I don't want to be another page in your diary.

Perhaps if I held you, I could win again,
I could take your hands, we'd talk and maybe then
that look in your eyes I always recognize
would tell me everything is gonna be fine.
You're gonna be mine
for a long time...

I'm torn between wanting to go off on a long and winding tangent, and wanting to wrap this up. And maybe the fact that tonight's first episode of Seinfeld is getting ready to start will help that decision. But no, who's this? Ted Koppel. Apparently, Nightline is running over. Title IX blah blah blah. Grrrrrr! Don't they know I NEED my entertainment? Annika Sorenstam this, and Annika Sorenstam that ... bottom-line, who the fuck CARES? If she wants to play with the boys, and she CAN play with the boys — I mean, what the fuck, it's GOLF! — just let her play. And cheer for her, if you're so inclined, and root against her, if you're not.

What I like most about Annika is that she's kinda cute. And she's Swedish, so she has that lilt in her voice. And she was actually SMILING today while she was playing, at a time when a lot of people, male or female, would've possibly choked. Or been all uncool and heavy about it all.

So, I have decided on a mini-tangent, the previous outburst notwithstanding.

I have a thousand and one things I want to say to her (NOT Annika; I have totally switched gears now), and I don't even know where to begin. Wait, I do know: In my mind, every conversation begins with, "I am sorry." And where it goes from there, who could say? I just want to have (at least) one convo in which we can both totally relax and say exactly what we want/need to say, and see where it goes from there.

Because there have been moments, but for the most part, it feels as if nothing will ever be the same. ("The same as what?" she wonders, and she doesn't even know how to answer that question.)

Nothing had the chance to be good
Nothing ever could ...

(Random "Holding Back the Years" quote there.)

Oh no: "Sweet fancy Moses!" Elaine dances — "more like a full-body dry-heave set to music" — George becomes "the bad seed," Jerry and Kramer go on a little bootlegging assignment with Brody.

Elaine: He's a bad seed; he's a horrible seed! He's one of the worst seeds I've ever seen!
Anna: And you two are friends?
Elaine: Oh, we're good friends!

Man, I LOVE this one. I really do.

Anna: Is that your orthopedic back pillow?
George: Maybe.
Anna: Well, is it, or isn't it?
George: I guess not.

:: Di 11:26:00 PM [+] ::
:: Sunday, May 18, 2003 ::
School's out!

And I should feel euphoric, but instead I simply feel relieved. And I want this to be the best summer EVER -- just as I told The Amazing D that I wanted this to be the best YEAR ever (and I still do), but lately these health issues, primarily hers and my grandma's, have been weighing on my mind. And just tonight I hear that D's grandkids' mom's boyfriend's brother hung himself after apparently sexually assaulting and murdering his own daughter. And I wonder: What, exactly, is this world coming to?

What scares me most, though, is when such occurrences actually fail to shock me. As if I almost expect the absolute worst in human behavior, so much so that when it happens, I am not all that surprised.

(I do not want to be jaded.)

I want to be idealistic and hopeful and romantic forever. I want, always, to see the glass half-full. I want to witness a miracle -- and God knows, I have, because I received forgiveness when I really, truly did not deserve it, and it came long before I ever really thought it would, and I know there is still a whole lotta mendin' to be done, but it will be, and yeah, that is the miracle I have seen, but still, I want more.

It is very difficult to think, let alone write, when I am this tired. Or as Tee-Hee would say, "tird." And I have new sheets and new pillowcases and a new comforter -- from the Martha Stewart collection (gotta LOVE Kmart!) -- just calling my name. They're blue, with stripes and criss-crosses and stuff -- sheets kinda like graph paper, that's why I liked 'em. VERY romantic, I suppose ... but ... yeah, they're me.

I've been thinking a lot about me lately. More than usual, if that's possible. I got my hair cut Friday afternoon, and I decided that I am not truly comfortable unless my hair is really really short. (Can you say, "dyke"? Heh. Hmm. Ha!) Oh, yeah, and as I pointed out over at Clarke's place: That whole "Can you say ... ?" is a pure Mister Rogersism! Which makes me like/want to say it even more frequently. To the point of being an annoyance, even. Not that THAT has anything to do with me, though.

(Imagine that.)

Oh, no: The Seinfeld episode in which Kramer wears skin-tight jeans is on! Slim-fit Wranglers! Damn, I crack up EVERY time I see that scene of Jerry trying to help Kramer take off those jeans ...! Hehehehehehehehe!

Jerry: Squinch your hips in!
Kramer: I AM squinching them!

So, now the Cards lead the Cubs 4-2 this season, and we're going to see the 4th game of this series tomorrow in St. Louie. Thankfully, the Cubs won Saturday, so it won't be a sweep, and I won't have to listen to my Cardinals fan friends talking about THAT. Still, a Cubs win would be awesome; they won the first time the 4 of us went, but they lost 11-2 last time ... the same day I got a speeding ticket on the way to campus to pick up the tickets, en route to the ballgame.

Go, Cubs!

What more to say about last week? Chaotic, at best. Tallied up the grades for my TuTh class and realized I had a nearly perfect "curve" -- not that I grade on a curve, but it kinda sorta worked out that way on its own: 5 A's, 3 B's, 4 C's, 4 D's and 4 E's. I also realized that students really, REALLY have to work at failing my class. Three people failed for basically not coming to class, and 2 failed primarily for not turning in all the writing assignments. In my MWF class, most students got B's. A couple of them probably did C-caliber writing, but ... they tried very hard and they participated in class discussions and, mainly, they came to class regularly, so when I saw that they were on the borderline, they had to get the higher grade.

I have some photos I wanna upload, but I can't do it right now.

My brilliant observation during today's game, after the Cardinals scored 3 runs in the 8th after a Cubs error: "There is no play in baseball that calls for a throw to right field."

God, I LOVE this game! And yet, I can't let on ... I can't let them know how much I secretly yearn to see the Cubs in the playoffs, and in the World Series ... will it EVER happen? And if it did, and if they actually won the World Series, could the end of the world possibly NOT be far behind? Would it all have been worth it?

More later ...

:: Di 10:53:00 PM [+] ::
:: Tuesday, May 13, 2003 ::
It's been a while ...

OK, so I'm feeling a little guilty 'cause it's been a while since I've written ... but I've been posting bits 'n' pieces elsewhere, so it's not as if I've not been doing some kinda writing. I just keep thinking I should save this place for My Really Deep Thoughts; trouble is, when I have a moment or two to write, I'm not necessarily thinking all that deeply.

("Do I ever think deeply?" she wonders, and then can't quite decide if something wondered should be placed in quotation marks or not.)

Hey, don't blame me, I just graded a stack o' essays 3 inches tall. And yes, I DID just grab the tape measure and measure the stack! And before I bitch and moan about how much I HATE having to grade essays ("Why DO you teach, Miss Winson?" she wonders), let me just share the best (heavy sarcasm) sentence of the stack:

This is some of the different kinds and some of the affects of this very serious want that may kill you in the end or does it you can do things in the right way also.
To which I responded, "This sentence makes no sense!" To which I COULD have responded by noting the lack of subject-verb agreement in the opening clause "This is some of the different kinds ...," as well as the improper use of "affects" for "effects, the run-on sentence (I think there might -- MIGHT -- be 3 actual sentences going on in there) AND the lack of a comma after the word "way." Instead, though, I simply put a big ol' circle-y square around it and the aforementioned statement.

I'm exhausted.

And no, just because I teach writing classes part-time does not mean I expect perfect grammar from anyone at all times, especially not myself. I can live with occasional mistakes in every aspect of my life; writing could not be expected to be exempt. In fact, now that I've pointed out that prime example of what my students apparently have learned -- or not learned -- from being in my class, I will no doubt proceed to litter this latest rambing with at least a dozen mistakes. And I will most likely have several mistakes in my pages and stories tomorrow at the news office.

So be it.

And now I've forgotten what I REALLY wanted to rant about. Heh.

Song in my head, all evening because I heard it whilst driving back with a salad and quiche: "It's Been a While" by Staind, mostly this part:

And it's been a while ... but I can still remember just the way you taste ...
Somewhat because I remember her quoting that part once upon a time, way back when. But mainly because I like the song, and also because I find it amusing how the local radio stations block out the words "shit" and "fucked-up," and then I remember Lucinda Williams laughing about how they did that to her song, "Essence," on the part that says, "Please come find me and help me get fucked-up," by playing some kinda weird guitar riff or something over it.

:: Di 11:13:00 PM [+] ::
:: Thursday, May 08, 2003 ::
Thrill me to the marrow

Dunno why, but I have had that snippet of lyric in my head for the past 2 days, then did a search on Yahooie and figured out it's from CSN's "Judy Blue Eyes," which I knew but could not remember. So, mystery solved.

: )

Some of the old Pem girls have put together a Web site, which is kinda cool. So far I have posted a recipe, a couple of reviews, a poll AND a pic; hope I don't drive 'em nuts! Ah, it's OK, they all know me ... even though it's been 15 years or longer since I've seen many of them. Patti put a couple of the photos I took of Em and Charlie, so I'm pretty happy about that. I seem to prefer photos I take rather than photos I am in. Not that I can't be photogenic when I want to.

Again: : )

OK, this is officially the night before the last day of classes, and I could not be happier. I am officially worn out; just have to make it through finals week, though, and grades, and then I can relax a little. Still have lots of newspaper stuff going on, but honestly, that doesn't stress me out in the least. Not that teaching stresses me out; it's just a lot of busywork, grading, preparing, etc. Will I keep doing this, or will I actually figure out what it is that I really need to/should be doing? (Hmm ... seems to me I actually AM doing what I need to be doing, right this instant. Now if I can only channel that writing energy in the right direction ... or something.)

And again, I am missing a girl. In an "I know she's out there, and I wish we could talk, REALLY talk" sorta way. But even when we do talk, which isn't often, nothing seems right. Almost as if I can't just relax and put the words together they way they need to go. Not the way they sound in my head, anyway. I have a lot of things I need to say, and maybe someday they will all come out, and everything will make sense.

Or maybe not.

It's not that serious.

And in the next heartbeat, it all matters so much.

Today around 3:45 p.m. I started to take a nap. I was totally psyched because I had, like, HOURS of free time, and all day long I'd been looking forward to snoozing, but when I got home from work I logged on and went to the Pem Hall Web site (I'd post the addy, but hey, it's private; probably wouldn't mean much to anyone who never lived there, anyway, or even people who didn't live there 1983-87). Did some surfing, and next thing I knew, 45 minutes had gone by. So I drug myself into the bedroom, lay down and drifted off -- but only for a split-second because I immediately had this dream that I was speeding east on East Main and totally blew through the red light, which actually turned green JUST as I was barreling through, but there was another set of lights a couple of blocks ahead, and I was just about to run this one, too. And crash, maybe, but then I woke up. And couldn't get back to sleep.

My real nap took place around 6:15 p.m., and I probably would've slept through CSI if Tee-Hee hadn't called me about 20 'til 8.

Man, this is starting to sound a little too much like a diary. As opposed to a journal. I gotta come up with some REAL topics!

:: Di 11:17:00 PM [+] ::
:: Wednesday, May 07, 2003 ::
The Tornado Story

I believe I shall tell The Tornado Story today in class. And after yesterday, thank GOD and the admissions office and anyone else for giving me a MWF class; otherwise, this entire semester would have been judged by my TuTh students. Enough said. And while I have been incredibly, hugely let down by one of my MWF students, the class as a whole has been such a joy to teach that I have been able to put the incident (almost) out of my mind.

What reminded me of my tornado tale was hearing the storm siren last night. Those things sorta freak me out; I remember one time when I lived in Bloomington and had to walk to work because my car was at Midas getting a new muffler put on it (not sure why, but they had my car for, like, 2 days; what's up with THAT?). I lived only about 8 blocks from the newspaper office. It looked a little stormy when I started out, so I stepped up the pace. Just as I got to "downtown" Bloomington and was about a block from the office, the storm sirens started blaring, and one of them must've been located in the building I was walking past because it was very loud and VERY scary. (I started to run at that point.)

My tornado story takes place when I am 7 years old, maybe 8, and in second grade. Mrs. Haney shows us a "tornado preparedness" movie that includes some shots of tornadoes wreaking havoc (heh) in various towns. After the movie, we all clap -- as is our reaction after every film shown in class -- to which Mrs. Haney says, "Well, I don't think you should be clapping over a movie like that." To which I, in all my 7- or 8-year-old wonder and wisdom reply, "Well, maybe we thought it was worth clapping for." Mrs. Haney responds by saying, "Diana, that's enough of your smart mouth. Get out in the hall!"

Out in the hall: One of my frequent punishments. Although I've never quite figured out how it really worked as punishment; after all, you got to get out of listening to the teacher babble on, which was something you were probably trying to do by acting up or out or whatever, anyway!

Apparently, I look at Mrs. Haney funny (funnily?) or something because as I start to drag my ass -- and my chair! -- out to the hall, she says, "That's it: Get to the office!" To which, according to legend, I reply, in a whisper that is inaudible to Mrs. Haney but QUITE audible to some of my classmates, "Well, I can't be two places at once!"

I head to the office, enter and sit down in one of the chairs. Mrs. ______ (Why can I not think of this woman's name? We broke out her office window one time, accidentally, with a baseball; I think it was Bob Petska who hit it.), the secretary, asks me what I am there for, so I tell her Mrs. Haney told me to go to the office. Several minutes later, Mrs. Haney comes down, barks something or other at me, then sends me back to the classroom, where I am incarcerated for all of that day's morning recess.

THAT is punishment.

A couple of years later, I am in fourth grade and, oddly enough, Mrs. Haney also has been "promoted" to fourth grade. I do not have her as a teacher, though; still, we sometimes run into each other when she has playground duty.

On this particular afternoon, I and some buddies are out playing around the roots of the tree located at the northwest corner of the playground. Suddenly, Mrs. Haney blows the whistle, signaling an end to recess. I do not wear a watch, yet I have a keen sense of how long recess lasts and I just KNOW that it is not time for recess to be over, so I tell my friends, "Relax. It's not time to go in yet. We still have a few more minutes." We keep playing, despite the fact that Mrs. Haney continues to blow on her whistle.

Suddenly, she yells -- from CLEAR across the playground, mind you, and we are at least 150 yards away! -- "Diana, get up here this minute!" I and my pals start walking toward her, and when she yells again, we start to run. Once we get to the door, Mrs. Haney gets in my face and yells, "There is a tornado WARNING! Now, get in here and get down against the wall."

We join the rest of the students who are in duck-and-cover mode. Several girls -- and a couple of boys, I might add -- are wailing and crying and asking if they'll ever see their mom again.

I am really pissed over having had to miss part of recess. Again.

(Is it any wonder tornadoes have been the theme of my recurring dream for nearly 30 years?)
:: Di 7:17:00 AM [+] ::
:: Sunday, May 04, 2003 ::
It was a dark and stormy night, Part 1

Today has been rainy all day. It's wanting to storm right about now, but there's a momentary break. I am dog-sitting but thought I'd run home and jot a few lines. I think I got that yearbook pretty much finished up today, thank God.

I found this paper today whilst I was cleaning and wanted to jot down these snippets of conversation from Thanksgiving. I thought they were funny, and I'm not sure I will ever have actual convos with my grandparents again; I do know that Grandma Ginny isn't getting any better, and Grandpa Bob is pretty much day-to-day, also.

Aunt Janie: Have you closed the garage door yet?
Mom: Yes. I wanted to make sure they don't get out.
Di: Who?
Mom: The cats.
Di: Oh. I thought you meant Grandma and Grandpa.

Grandpa Bob: Ain't got nothing against cats ... ain't got anything for 'em, either.

Mom (to Grandma): Need to potty?
Grandma Ginny: Here shortly.

Grandpa Bob (upon returning from the bathroom): Finished up what I started yesterday. Been constipated my whole life; nothing's changed.

Aunt Janie (to Mom): What are you reading?
Mom: The telephone directory.

I adore my family. I really do. Cousin Karen dropped by a couple of hours ago on her way back from Nashville. She let me tell my tale of forgery and deception; I enjoy talking to her. I need to talk to her more often.

Just finished watching: Tail-end of Ghost. What IS it about this film that ALWAYS gets to me -- other than Patrick Swayze's excruciating looks of pain and despair and sadness throughout the movie? I always tear up right at the end. And at various times throughout the rest of it. Love it.

:: Di 9:54:00 PM [+] ::
:: Saturday, May 03, 2003 ::
"you have to learn how to die if you wanna wanna be alive"

Yeah, I went to see Wilco today, and they were AWESOME!

Took the digi-cam and got some shots of Jeff Tweedy and the boys -- among them, bassist John Stirratt -- as they played a 2-plus-hour show in the SIU Arena parking lot. I moseyed down there solo, saw a couple of people I knew and then ran into Brett and Emily and hung out with them for the entire show -- which was cool because Brett is a big fan, and he was giving me little pieces of information about the songs. It was a great concert, a beautiful day, and I'm glad I went.

And now I'm tired.

And I'm missing a girl.

:: Di 10:21:00 PM [+] ::
:: Friday, May 02, 2003 ::
Today, I found a 4-leaf clover.

Ironically enough, it was on campus. As I was leaving. I really hadn't wanted to go in today because of all the bullshit over the last couple of days; matter of fact, I didn't want to go to the news office, either, but I managed to suck it up and haul my ass in to both places, and as it turned out, everything was fine, fine, fine. Course, I left the office a little early tonight, which could result in me getting some multi-dimensional shit, but ... c'est la vie. I really can't be bothered by it.

Song in my head: "Talk of the Town" by the Pretenders. Not sure why, but it was there a few minutes ago, and here it is again.

Currently watching: Seinfeld, the episode in which Kramer takes over The Alex Theatre.
Favorite scene: Kramer eating the hot dog. ("Interesting texture," just before he coughs, sputters and chokes. SLAYS me, every time!)

All of this excitement aside, my absolute BEST moment today was seeing the smile on Jake's face as he came walking out of his house and saw me standing there. Unfortunately, he thought we were headed to a track meet or a baseball game or something, and all I had really wanted to do was stop by and say hi to his mom, but he didn't appear to be all that disappointed, so it was cool.

Man, I LOVED his smile. That is he, smack-dab in the middle of this photo, warming up for a cross country meet last fall.

There is nothing quite as adorable as when someone is truly, genuinely happy to see me. Made me feel great. It was just what I needed, actually.

:: Di 11:19:00 PM [+] ::

:: Thursday, May 01, 2003 ::
Is it Friday yet?!

The topper to this grand day occurred when I went to the kitchen to finish off the Oreos and found that I had left only 4 in the bag, and I know full well that I like to cram at least 8 of them into a glass and then fill it with milk and spoon them out, soggily, one by one. Oh well, no need to eat more than 4 Oreos at a time, anyway, right?

Although I have made sort of a vow to myself that I AM going to ride my bicycle this summer. I kept thinking I needed a new bike -- I want a blue Schwinn or Mongoose or some other trendy name (heck, dunno how trendy "Schwinn" is, but I've always considered Schwinns to be, like, the mother of all bicycles) rather than my red Roadmaster -- but now I have decided that I don't want a brand spankin' new bike. I wanna be kinda rugged and grubby on my bike, so I need to ride this one 'til it is about to fall apart; then, and ONLY then, will I allow myself to think about a new one.

Found out today that I had officially been forged. Or, to be more specific, someone had forged my name on a letter "they" had submitted for their own benefit. I don't feel right going into details about this incident, for many reasons, not the least of which, who knows where this might end up, litigation-wise, but suffice it to say that I am not happy about it. I feel as if someone with whom I had established a good rapport basically let me down. BIG time. And I am not mad, really, but I am certainly disappointed.

And, of course, whenever I am faced with someone letting me down, I automatically think of my own occasional suckiness, one incident in particular, and I realize that I have quite a ways to go before I officially have forgiven myself. I must practice this by learning to forgive others.

I do know, however, that I have learned valuable lessons. The result of these lessons being, perhaps, that by the time I am about 70, I will be a nearly mistake-free human being.

Yeah, rrrrrrrrright ... but I AM trying.

Stopped by to see Joe Mac today. He turned 40. I had gotten him a card over the weekend and meant to mail it but then didn't, so I dropped it by his office. 'Twas amazingly good to see him, once again, and I feel really great about the possibility of rekindling our friendship. When I am around him, I realize just how much I miss him.

Gave myself a headache last night fucking with this journal. I wanted to create an off-shoot blog where I could post my occasional "creative" writing, but somehow I couldn't quite figure out the whole ftp-thingie. And now I can't get rid of the 2 pseudo-blogs I put together. I guess I will just ignore them.

Cubs take 2 out of 3 from the Giants. Maybe this day wasn't all that bad. Matter of fact, it was actually an OK day, except for the tears. Sometimes, though, even tears have a purpose, but right now, my eyes are burning. No fun.

:: Di 10:56:00 PM [+] ::

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