Oh, Lord, let it be so.

Just because I talk about myself all the goddamn time doesn't mean I don't want to hear about you, and I won't listen just to have my turn to speak again. I love hearing about peoples' lives, I like listening to them tell me stories, even if they are told badly and at great length (I do this). I like the way we can speak, since we aren't poets, imprecisely and flagrantly abuse language and still impart our emotions accurately. I don't like to pry or pester, though, so I just seem like I am tremendously self absorbed. But I wanted to let you all know this, alright? Alright.

I was choked up this morning.

"The gate was open, and the door was open. A fine layer of dust covered the place. The priest came up to me. He fell into my arms and said 'Father, I am here.'"

I can't hold on to spoken words for long enough to pull out their meaning. I admire them, and I am always struck by those who can speak in complete, coherent sentences. I am so envious of extemporaneous speaking abilities. Halfway through all of my sentences I realize that I forgot a crucial detail, and have hustle to make the words I speak even slightly coherent. I want people to provide me with transcripts of the wonderful things they have spoken so that I may pour over them at my leisure. I want to take notes constantly so that I don't lose these things, these tremendously moving things that I hear spoken out loud.

2002-11-24, Oh Lord let it be so

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