Columbine in Bloom

Am I cheating on Blogger by having a space — and a bit of a blog! — over on MySpace?

It doesn’t feel as if I am being unfaithful ... but then again, sometimes the person involved in the alleged affair is the only person who doesn’t feel as if she’s doing anything wrong ... or so I’ve heard. Or read. Or something.

Either way, I think the other space is just what I needed to provide me with a little burst of creativity. I’m a bit more haphazard over there (if it’s really possible for me actually ever to loosen up, really, in an ultimately oh-so-public forum); MySpace is actually a bit more fun with the friends comments and the music and what-not.

This is kinda my quiet place. And: I like it.

: )

I have conversations here. Sometimes I converse with Paté over a pitcher of beer (or three!) at the Uptowner ... unless we’ve decided to stay in that particular night and hang out in her dorm room or mine; other times, I am talking to Lea or Brett or Sheila during those precious hours before we officially have to start the workday, before everyone else gets there to interrupt the flow of our discussion. Other times, I am writing an e-mail to Roger or my responses to an online chat with Lisa J. or posting, here, something in reply to one of my fellow Apples from the Orchard.

Once in a while, I talk to people who don’t drop by all that often — such as my beloved Tee-Hee, who gets irritated because I don’t write about me and her and our various adventures often enough, or my sister, who is put off by my occasional use of the word “fuck.” Other times, it’s my mom or The Lovely, who don’t have the link ’cause I don’t think they’d be all that interested.

Yet other times, I converse with someone who remains deep within my soul, no matter how much I try to deny her presence there.

“Whose voice do you hear in your head?” she asks me one night, late. “Sometimes,” I answer, “it’s yours.”

(Many times, it’s hers.)

: )

Donald and Virginia’s columbine plant is in bloom — oddly enough, just a few days after the anniversary of the Columbine shootings. Strange that such a horrible event (has it really been seven years?) would share the same name as such a beautiful plant.

Columbine seems to have such a short-lived bloom; usually, I will notice the flowers, snap a few pictures, and then, they’re gone in what seems to be a matter of hours.

(This evening, whilst snapping away, something landed on the back of my right hand. I looked down and saw four or five teeny-tiny inchworms — which weren’t particularly frightening, but they kinda gave me the creeps because I kept wondering if any of them had landed in my rapidly becoming rat’s nest head of hair [I keep telling myself I am going to grow it out; everyone keeps telling me I won’t!], so I cut short the photo session and headed home, immediately, to take a shower!)

(I have decided I truly would like the outdoors if only it weren’t so ... outdoorsy!)

(By the way: The poison ivy is almost completely gone. Thank goodness and Ivy Dry.)

: )