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13 February 2002
5:58 am

"hi. how are you?"
"oh, i'm fine."

fine. adj. word sara uses to describe how she feels at any given point. def. in limbo.

i keep using that as a subconcious comparison to the way i feel.

in limbo.
in passing.

and that's exactly what's going on. i feel like i'm sitting on the side of the highway counting cars. keeping my eyes stationary and soon its asphalt and color and the kind of integration that prevents seperation.

this is not a trial run.
this is the real thing.
this is not a trial run.
this is the real thing.
this is not a trial run.
this is the real thing.

i need to roll out of bed and shake off the covers. but sleep tastes so good. and by the previous statement, i don't directly mean that i need to sleep less because as we very well all know, sleep and sara don't have a very stable relationship anyway.

figurative covers.

but i'm covered from head to toe and fearful of the cold of the floor beneath my feet and would really just like to stay in bed for a little while longer, mom. school can wait. five more minutes.

but the alarm is blaring and eventually the sprints across the room from my bed to the snooze button will become tiring and boring and the stuffed animals and their plastic eyes staring back at me will let me up and out and then i will be rolling.

no more limbo.

there are times that i wish i was a dog, if only for the heightened sense of smell. i think so many times, the way i feel is established by what i smell.. or what i think i smell. i just walked through the living room and it had that early morning smell that i became best friends with two summers ago.

summer. never before have i yearned for the sun. while long sleeved clothes will always hold a special place in my heart, i've found myself counting the days till summer. that sense of freedom that surpasses graduation. and i'm CRAVING it like a moth to light.

one of my favorite poems was written by... don marquis, i think his name was, under the pseudoidentity of archy, the cockroach in his office, who jumped on the keys in order to type words out. this particular poem was about a conversation archy had with a moth right before he scorched himself on a flame. the moth didn't seem to care that he was going to die, he had such a desire to completely engulf himself with it.

correlation comes in here: when i was three, i was pretending to wash the dishes. my mom went out to check the mail. in the few short moments that she was gone, i turned to the stove, switched the dial on high, and pushed my palm on the burner.

opposition develops character, says uncle dave.

opposition develops character.

sigh. ain't that some shit.

but. that's life.

in other words, i'm fine.

heh.