My friend showed up this morning, and I was genuinely delighted to see her. I am always genuinely delighted to see people, but bubbled and laughed and gave her a (hurtful, she informed me, my friends must be rediculously delicate) hug.

I wasn't expecting to have anyone here - campus is quiet - and so we kept each other company during the morning. We had sweet, happy chatter about everything, talking rapidly. I stretched on her bed and she finished her study abroad letter. My next door neighbor should be back this evening. I had to leave, though. Something felt wrong at home, and I don't sit around wallowing, I move on.

It's a rainy windy day and I am watching the trees dance around the buildings out my window.

I brought back ten pounds of apples from home. I thought my suitcase might bust a seam. I am hardcore dedicated to the quality of my food. I eat apples reverentially. They are small and very sweet and their juice is almost milky. Ten pounds is a lot for one person to consume, but at least I have friends who never turn down food.

I need people. I swear I have no gaping holes in my self, but I need people. I need them constantly. I want to listen to them, I want to sprawl on their beds and listen to them talk about the people they have loved, the people they have known, what their big ideas are.

It's that strange sort of surrender, that giving up part of myself makes me more intense. Through any act of unselfishness, I receive more than I can handle.

2002-10-16, hunger

before / after

archives / website / hello book / diaryland