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sunday, august 10, 1997, 22:47

jcn/lint: i'm still trying to find my words
jcn/lint: i think they're waiting for me back at school.
ondine/lyn: good then they are safe
jcn/lint: i hope they'll be happy to see me.
ondine/lyn: Im sure they will..they will be gathered at the front door panting and wiggling their little wordy butts in delight

I've lost my words. They're just not in me any more. This thing, this journal (or whatever it is), is unedited, free flow, right out of the brain, into the fingers, onto the screen.

Well, that's the idea anyway.

Theseday days, I've got the fingers, i've got the screen. The brain. Nothing's flowing. And when that happens, the words that come out aren't realy words. At least, I don't think they are. And they certainly aren't mine. Or, at least, I'd really rather they weren't mine, because they say absoultely nothing.

But I want them. And I miss them.

This is quite unfortunate. I want to write. I want to tell about the strike last night that lasted 'till 4 in the morning. To tell about leaving and driving people home. About going to the party and being in for a bit before everyone started leaving since it was about 5:30 or so.

And there must be something in there about walking down the street to the diner, only to find it closed. Diners don't close. What is this? About driving to the other diner. about wondering what's going on with my friend and this girl. About being lound and silly at 7 am. About driving home, eyes closing. Realizing that the summer is over. Realizing that whatever's left, it's just time to kill before we go on. Before another year's past.

Knowing that I won't see these people for another year. Seeing my life gauged in years. Realizing that people mean so much to me, and that I just don't know how to express it so that they can understand that.

Knowing that seeing some friends means leaving others.

Seeing people who just shouldn't ever come back into my life come back in.

I should be talking about all of this.

I think I just did.

thursday, august 14, 1997, 09:51

was thinking about writing last night, but ended up falling asleep instead. In bed before 11. That was crazy. Haven't done that in the longest time.

All this hard work, I suppose.

But I did have a weird dream last night.

Back to work for me now.

saturday, august 16, 1997, 02:58

I'm really tempted right now to walk over to my bed, lay down, if only to "rest my eyes" for a couple of minutes. Of course I know that if i do that, I'm going to end up waking up 5 hours later, still clothed, the computer still on, and that awful "i just woke up after having gone to sleep without brushing my teeth" feel.

Slowly, I feel my brain slipping out my left ear. Of course then, if that happens, the weight might slip to the right and my head wouldn't be sagging this direction so much. 'course that might just be because i'm tired as sin.

Last day of work. Was gonna make it a short one, but that didn't work out. wasn't really expecting to.

*smack*

bad jesse. No sleeping on the wrist rest.

I was watching jenny jones earlier.

Okay, fine, sothat's probably not funny enough on its own, but it is pretty funny. Oh right, so the show. Getting back to that, it was great. "That's no sexpot... that's my teenage daughter." The twelve year old who can't go to school any more because she dresses too sexy. The 18 year old stripper who's been waiting for years to become a stripper.

Kids want to grow up way too fast. Said one of the guests "I've got the body now, shouldn't i use it?" Make me ill. I'm beginning to see the things that i could have done as a kid, but didn't.

but more importantly, I'm seeing the things that i did do as a kid that i probably won't get to do for the rest of my life. Like sleep. heh. like go into the stream in the backyard and build dams, or break out little dams that were blocking up the water in the rocks, or swinging on the hammock, pretending that the bed of pine needles coating the ground was really a lake of lava that you couldn't step on.

and here's a twelve year old whose mother wants her to get bodyguards because too many men hit on her? No, I don't think so. Misspent youth. Or something.

I just feel sorry for them.

Besides, what kind of imagination can you have if you're too busy flaunting what you've got? After all, imagination is what really makes kids tick.

Imagination is all about the things you don't have.

And sometimes what you don't have is so much more important than what you do.

For example, right now, sleep is so much more important than anything else I could possibly have.

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