...with his candle lit into the sun, though its glow is waxed in black...

I hate being a copycat, but random catalogue-ing is the only way that I can see of accurately depicting the recent events of my life.

Speaking of accurate depictions: here's my picture of the day. This is what I'm doing right now. I have a weird look on my face, but I'm too lazy to take another one.



So here goes:

I now drink black coffee. I feel like a woman.

Finals suck.

Chem was scary and I either failed or did really, really well.

I still don't have shoes or a bra for my prom dress.

I do have a dress.

I think I'm gonna take apart some old jewelry and make my own earrings.

Frankie's movie and Misa's gallery are today!

I didn't study for my English final at all.

The book Cut is actually pretty good, but it left me with that weird feeling again.

Saw Harry's friend Richie again, the beat poet I talked about before. He has a pointy tongue and pointy ears like a tie-dyed elf. A beat-poet-elf. A gray flannel dwarf. What's the difference?

I actually have a lot of creepy dreams about pale dwarves. I think it has to do with my mom reading me Dwarf Nose over and over again when I was little. It's a beautiful chilling story.

I downloaded the Secret Agent Man themesong as my new ringtone, which means you guys don't have to put up with the first few chords of I Am The Walrus every time Rosa calls me. (Her messages are always the same, word for word: Nenita, te habla Rosa. Llamame por favor. Quiero hablarte. Vaya con Dios.)

I had to reshelve all my books last night because my parents decided the don't want me taking up the whole bookshelf in the living room, so I double-layered the one in my room. I realized (again) that I really do read a lot.

I told my parents to let me sleep in and the woke me up at seven. When I asked, they said they were going to wake me up at six thirty but decided not to. I love them considerably more when I don't have to live with them.

My cousin George graduated from the Naval Academy last weekend. He's going to be a Marine. The president gave him his diploma. He wants to go to Iraq in six months, after training. I'm afraid.

I haven't done a single hour of out-of-school community service this year.

I really like Thomas Hardy.

I didn't sleep till 3:30 AM last night. I kept remembering this time when Harry, DaSilva, Sofia and I went to Sam Freund's house and watched Pulp Fiction. I'm going to miss him next year.

I'm very, very prone to nostalgia.

Which is at this point kind of ridiculous, if you think about it, but it's true.

I was feeling very sad in the park on Wednesday, because it was almost the last park-chill of the year and Peter and Penn were playing the guitar and Dan and I were sitting down and I felt like crying and then Penn said "yo, do you still write songs?" and I remembered that he'd heard my folksongs and I said "kind of" and he said "you should, 'cause yours were mad good." It made me a little happier somehow.

Matt the kindergarten teacher gave me bootlegs of the Dylan shows I went to. Apparantly one of his friends is "the top taper in the industry." It's so amazingly cool I can't get over it. It just about made my week, in spite of finals and everything.

When I think about it, it's weird the way I want/don't want people to read this. My blog, I mean. There are some people I'd never want to read it--Ms. Daly, or Bram, or Andy, or the people in my grade that I don't know (which is most of them), or my parents--and certain people that for undeterminate reasons I don't mind reading this, like Fish (I gave it to him once) or Harry's parents (although I doubt they've got the time), or Steve Bender or some of the freshman. Strange.

I really like Barnes & Noble. Somebody tell the guards to watch out for me.

I completely forgot to eat breakfast this morning.

I don't know if I'm a morning person.

I just realized last week that I sleep in one of two positions every night: either flat on my stomach with my elbows tucked in and my hands under the pillow, or facing right with my arms tucked in fetus-style and one leg straight and the other slightly bent. Also strange.

I didn't get in to the writing course I wanted to go to because my application came too late, even though my award thingy was supposed to make me get automatically accepted. I'm doing a different one at the New School instead, which is cool because it means I can audit as many of their classes as I'd like, including Harmonica and Poety Analysis, all summer. I'm trying to get my mom to take a class with me, but she's nervous about it.

I wonder if I'll be brave enough to call people up this summer.

I haven't started Bram's essay. I think I'll do it Monday morning.

I've decided that if I ever write another play I won't attend my own staged reading. Everything sounds stupid and short when you read it out loud.

I think I've been scaring away commentors. I guess I don't mind. I want to put in an "email me" button but I don't know how.

I think I've been subconsciously trying to test Renata's boyfriend, make sure he deserves her. He's pretty cool. Unfortunately I think he's also terrified of me, partly because I leave weird messages on his phone and partly because I didn't know he was here once and I started talking about her cup size really loud and about how she'd be really big in a year or two. He just got up and walked out of the house without saying a word.

I need to shave my legs before Prom.

I need to stop biting my nails before Prom.

I need to eat breakfast.

Maybe I should study or something.

Meh.