Time, time sends a warning call

2003-05-15, Goodnight John

I am basking in the high of having written what is probably a pretty good essay. Furthermore, it's an essay my English professor at home would have looooved (with extra o's) so I am betting that English professor here will at the least enjoy it. I got a little carried away at the end, but I was a little punchy from having stared at the computer screen since 2 in the afternoon. The prose is really quite stunning - highly wrought as per usual. It wouldn't be me if there weren't plenty of rhetorical flourish.

I'm glad that I can compose an essay. Now to compose my life! (With extra flourish.)

2003-05-14, Ms. Stupidhead writes a mean essay

So today, after I crashed on Charlotte's purple satin sheets and started to recount my day in typical manner - including lots of funny faces, non sequiturs, and random moments of staring followed by spastic giggling, she said "You have a beautiful smile."

"Oh, darling, usually it's the Peruvian pickpockets who tell me sweet things like that!"

1000 words to go.

This is the cutest thing I have ever written. I found it on my hard drive ages ago. I write the dopey-est fake fiction on the planet, but I love it:

She wrapped herself up in the cloth which looked like it was made from the sleepy blue town at night. It was crusted with all the light from the dying out hearth fires or the lights from those sick and sleepless. She pulled it tight, fastened it, and plucked at it. She draped it over her head and walked out, as the fires dimmed and the lights shut off.

Wearing the dress made her ears roar and her skin tingle. She wanted to cause a stir, but she always wound up standing silently somewhere. Walking around, waiting for a stir, trying to ignore the roar in her ears, she finally gave up and went to the supermarket. She loved the supermarket and spent many hours just pacing them with her hands thrust into pockets, never touching or buying anything.

Her lips were thin and chapped, and she licked them as she looked around furtively. She wished some golden and sweet liquid were sloshing through her head - rinsing away the tiredness behind her eyes, cleaning the roar out of her ears, erasing the ache of her bones. So young, and such aches, she thought. She felt stupid for thinking that. She pretended to inspect the cereal. Nervously, she shuffled on.

2003-05-14, She's a pretty young thing too

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