Today,
Bear came into my work. While I went hither and thither, Bear sat at a table and read his book, "The Fourth Bear." (this is not a joke).
He brought me fresh fruit and an empty bean can with a little bear inside: Bean Can Bear. Her name is Sasha...and apparently, her and JoJo (my Protectorbear while I am driving) get along very well. They were together tonight in my car, probably dancing, while I went to Klubb 23 (Klubb 23 is actually just Bear's apartment).
Bear and I usually go out on a Saturday night but tonight was different. He had a show earlier and wasn't feeling well to begin with. So we just read together at the Klubb. He "The Fourth Bear" and I "Wind in the Willows."
"This is so bohemian," he kept saying.
I love my Bear.
I love Reptile bear.
I love JoJo bear.
I love Sasha bear.
I love Bear.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Friday, September 28, 2007
Its Friday night
hot chocolate was made for marshmellows.
and homework was not made for Friday nights.
since our generation enjoys breaking norms of this society
i shall break one too.
i will get wasted on the intoxicating history of mass communications
and high on argumentation and debate
and i will sleep with the knowledge I have gained.
and not with an STD infested boy.
take that society.
I socked it to the man.
and homework was not made for Friday nights.
since our generation enjoys breaking norms of this society
i shall break one too.
i will get wasted on the intoxicating history of mass communications
and high on argumentation and debate
and i will sleep with the knowledge I have gained.
and not with an STD infested boy.
take that society.
I socked it to the man.
I'm not ready to say goodbye to September. She ends soon, you know. Just a couple more days and life will morph into October. But I'm ready for October. I'm ready for the colder weather he brings, the way he seduces the clouds into breaking their silence, the way he covers this colorless southern California earth into a deeper shade of grey and how the only real color we see is the orange of the pumpkins on the vines or in their respected boxes at the grocery store. Southern California lacks the feisty personality of fall and I suppose that if I never experienced her outside of this dreariness, I would place myself in a tanning booth along with the rest of these morbid and thankless southern Californians.
October means wearing my brown and black leggings underneath mini skirts and scarves that my mom made for me wrapped around my neck. Oh, how I missed you too. October means its ok to be cliche: go ahead and indulge yourself in a good book while you sit next to the warmth of a fire...you dont need a stone hearth either. October means many things. It means rain and frizzy curls...it means watching the "smoke" in the air while you breathe and smile up at the one you love. October means boots and thick socks and naturally rosy cheeks.
It means a one year anniversary.
It means commitment and realizing that you're starting to understand what that word truly means.
Usually in October, the Bears are settling in for their winter slumber...they're wrapping themselves in extra thick fur and are whispering sweet nothings in their sweetheart Bear's ear so that they'll dream sweetly while they're apart.
October means love "recalled to life." It is rugged and overcast but if you catch the subtleties of it's beauty, it will leave you breathless. Watch for the whisper of color while the leaves turn, listen to the silence of clouds rolling by, feel the sensuousness of the rain as it kisses your fingers. Watch the blotches of orange grow larger as the diameter of the pumpkin increases. These are beautiful things! "Seek, and you will find."
October helps me to envision my mom in her kitchen, making soups and stews and homemade bread and becoming excited about fallen leaves on the side of the road. My mom is a bohemian at heart. She loves fall...perhaps she is the one who taught me to love it as well. In fact, every memory that has led me to fall in love with fall has to do with her...she taught me to appreciate it, to savor that sweet something that comes from ironing leaves and shreded crayons onto wax paper. Looking back, I don't think I would have come to love it on my own. She instilled in me certain values about fall, to appreciate the little things that makes fall so majestic. Such as tiny pumpkins placed around the house...the smell of cinnamon sticks boiling on top of the wood stove. Without letting me know it directly, she implanted certain devices to trigger my senses and my thoughts...such a sly one she is.
Well...
I must be on my way...
September is waiting for our final goodbye and I must meet her...
October means wearing my brown and black leggings underneath mini skirts and scarves that my mom made for me wrapped around my neck. Oh, how I missed you too. October means its ok to be cliche: go ahead and indulge yourself in a good book while you sit next to the warmth of a fire...you dont need a stone hearth either. October means many things. It means rain and frizzy curls...it means watching the "smoke" in the air while you breathe and smile up at the one you love. October means boots and thick socks and naturally rosy cheeks.
It means a one year anniversary.
It means commitment and realizing that you're starting to understand what that word truly means.
Usually in October, the Bears are settling in for their winter slumber...they're wrapping themselves in extra thick fur and are whispering sweet nothings in their sweetheart Bear's ear so that they'll dream sweetly while they're apart.
October means love "recalled to life." It is rugged and overcast but if you catch the subtleties of it's beauty, it will leave you breathless. Watch for the whisper of color while the leaves turn, listen to the silence of clouds rolling by, feel the sensuousness of the rain as it kisses your fingers. Watch the blotches of orange grow larger as the diameter of the pumpkin increases. These are beautiful things! "Seek, and you will find."
October helps me to envision my mom in her kitchen, making soups and stews and homemade bread and becoming excited about fallen leaves on the side of the road. My mom is a bohemian at heart. She loves fall...perhaps she is the one who taught me to love it as well. In fact, every memory that has led me to fall in love with fall has to do with her...she taught me to appreciate it, to savor that sweet something that comes from ironing leaves and shreded crayons onto wax paper. Looking back, I don't think I would have come to love it on my own. She instilled in me certain values about fall, to appreciate the little things that makes fall so majestic. Such as tiny pumpkins placed around the house...the smell of cinnamon sticks boiling on top of the wood stove. Without letting me know it directly, she implanted certain devices to trigger my senses and my thoughts...such a sly one she is.
Well...
I must be on my way...
September is waiting for our final goodbye and I must meet her...
Thursday, September 27, 2007
I'm not very good at growing up
i wish my body was a suit.
That i could just take off for a week
and run off
and be free
free from me.
i would sit on the mountains a few days, eat berries
play with the animals. splash and laugh in the clear river
i would go to the prairie and sit in the long long grass.
i would be lost in it,
and no one would care
because I wouldn't be me.
i would go to chicago
just because i've never been.
just a week off
a week to sit
and bury my toes in the sand
and not be me.
lets run away lundsberg
lets drop these hats life as given us
and be five again.
we'll have juice time
and i'll want to be a mermaid in the pool
and you and ammo
will laugh at me
we'll go to vbs and be in it.
not part of it.
lets go.
lets go back to 1990 my faithful friend
That i could just take off for a week
and run off
and be free
free from me.
i would sit on the mountains a few days, eat berries
play with the animals. splash and laugh in the clear river
i would go to the prairie and sit in the long long grass.
i would be lost in it,
and no one would care
because I wouldn't be me.
i would go to chicago
just because i've never been.
just a week off
a week to sit
and bury my toes in the sand
and not be me.
lets run away lundsberg
lets drop these hats life as given us
and be five again.
we'll have juice time
and i'll want to be a mermaid in the pool
and you and ammo
will laugh at me
we'll go to vbs and be in it.
not part of it.
lets go.
lets go back to 1990 my faithful friend
Places
It has almost reached the middle of my final semester at TMC. What was once the beginning of a new chapter in my life back in August 06 is now quickly coming to an end. Every season is a new beginning and contains new obstacles to overcome, routines to master...and once those are completed, it is time to think ahead to the next conflict, development and resolution. It's funny how life really is just a series of short stories. Perhaps it is one way that God demonstrates his grace so that we are not overwhelmed at once by the pressures in life such as relationships, plans for the future, etc.
It's usually during these transitional times that I want to run away. I don't care what I have with me, I don't care who I leave behind. I just want to go...
to Paris-Here, I will have the most cliche Parisian experience. I will drink espresso at a little sidewalk cafe and read a book...or write my own.
to Italy-Here, I will visit the old country where antique stone homes are surrounded by acres of rolling vineyards. I will help pick the grapes and then stamp them with my feet. And after that, I will sit down with a friendly Italian family and eat a meal of raviolli's and lasagna...accompanied, of course, with a nice bottle of red wine...and freshly baked garlic bread.
to Switzerland- I don't want to be here for too long...just long enough to get a massage and buy some chocolate.
to Australia- to snorkel in the warm water and bathe in the sand...I'd go horseback riding on the beaches and talk to the natives.
to Chicago, Boston, upstate New York- because I have never been to these places and I want to go. I want to go and be a bohemian...it is nearly impossible to be a bohemian in Los Angeles
to name a few places.
At least I get to go to Texas in October and Oregon in November. That will be nice...
It's usually during these transitional times that I want to run away. I don't care what I have with me, I don't care who I leave behind. I just want to go...
to Paris-Here, I will have the most cliche Parisian experience. I will drink espresso at a little sidewalk cafe and read a book...or write my own.
to Italy-Here, I will visit the old country where antique stone homes are surrounded by acres of rolling vineyards. I will help pick the grapes and then stamp them with my feet. And after that, I will sit down with a friendly Italian family and eat a meal of raviolli's and lasagna...accompanied, of course, with a nice bottle of red wine...and freshly baked garlic bread.
to Switzerland- I don't want to be here for too long...just long enough to get a massage and buy some chocolate.
to Australia- to snorkel in the warm water and bathe in the sand...I'd go horseback riding on the beaches and talk to the natives.
to Chicago, Boston, upstate New York- because I have never been to these places and I want to go. I want to go and be a bohemian...it is nearly impossible to be a bohemian in Los Angeles
to name a few places.
At least I get to go to Texas in October and Oregon in November. That will be nice...
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Muse
Thalia is the greek goddess of muse.
She's playing with me...
and I'm not quite sure what she is trying to say.
Life is hard, man. Life is point blank hard. Sometimes I feel like I can conquer the world...other times, like today, I wonder if I can just make it through another 24 hours. It seems like such a long time, but it really isn't. It will slip right on past me...I won't even notice until its gone and then I will wish that I had it back.
But I can't.
I can't have any of my past back. I cannot go back and though I can hang onto it if I wished...I can't do that either. If I'm not moving forward then I am moving backward. There is no inbetween. Turning the page of each new day grows harder and harder...if I don't keep moving forward, I'll never see the end of my story.
I like how I am vague with everything I have written. Why is life hard? What pages? What part of the past am I talking about? Why is moving forward so hard?
isn't it sad, that on this journey, you really only walk with one other person? People float in and out of your life...you don't see them coming, when they're here its hard to remember what life was like without them, and when they're gone...theyre gone. And you miss them. And its hard for awhile...but you always move on. You may never forget them...you may even want them back. But you always find yourself still living...still dreaming...still fighting for whatever it is that we fight for on this earth.
I wish it weren't that way...
She's playing with me...
and I'm not quite sure what she is trying to say.
Life is hard, man. Life is point blank hard. Sometimes I feel like I can conquer the world...other times, like today, I wonder if I can just make it through another 24 hours. It seems like such a long time, but it really isn't. It will slip right on past me...I won't even notice until its gone and then I will wish that I had it back.
But I can't.
I can't have any of my past back. I cannot go back and though I can hang onto it if I wished...I can't do that either. If I'm not moving forward then I am moving backward. There is no inbetween. Turning the page of each new day grows harder and harder...if I don't keep moving forward, I'll never see the end of my story.
I like how I am vague with everything I have written. Why is life hard? What pages? What part of the past am I talking about? Why is moving forward so hard?
isn't it sad, that on this journey, you really only walk with one other person? People float in and out of your life...you don't see them coming, when they're here its hard to remember what life was like without them, and when they're gone...theyre gone. And you miss them. And its hard for awhile...but you always move on. You may never forget them...you may even want them back. But you always find yourself still living...still dreaming...still fighting for whatever it is that we fight for on this earth.
I wish it weren't that way...
i'm looking for you too
i suppose honesty isn't always the best policy
i would like my facebook status to be honest
Karine is undesirable.
but i can't write that
because the stream of pity comments would follow
'karine you're precious' 'what do you mean?'
'dont be ridiculous' and the like would follow
but the number of comments that would flood my page
wouldn't change the fact
words are but words
blowing through the wind changing at ever stop
words are not constant
but actions are
actions speak louder than words my dear friend
so much louder
as i sit alone on a cliff of the figment of my imagination
these actions echo and resonate through out the canyon
and these words that mean nothing to me are like the writing on my
bottom of my shoe.
i stand on them, but they change nothing.
there or not there.
my life goes on.
i feel like i'm always too much.
too sarcastic
too city
too silly
not serious enough
too serious
too backwoods
it changes from each person
but i never feel like me.
maybe thats why its the canyon and me today
because my other half
is struggling with the same thing
but I'm here buddy.
i'm waiting for you.
I'm lonely
I'm trying to be content.
I'm trying so hard.
I hope, I'm right for you.
I hope you enjoy me for me.
I hope you like that I like to get dressed up.
I hope you enjoy the fact that I wear heels
I hope you enjoy the fact that I like to cause trouble
Some how I know you will.
Together, we will be one.
And when you finally rescue me from my lonely castle on the hill,
I'll put my arm in the crook of your arm and smile at you.
Knowing you complete me. every little last complex section of me.
i would like my facebook status to be honest
Karine is undesirable.
but i can't write that
because the stream of pity comments would follow
'karine you're precious' 'what do you mean?'
'dont be ridiculous' and the like would follow
but the number of comments that would flood my page
wouldn't change the fact
words are but words
blowing through the wind changing at ever stop
words are not constant
but actions are
actions speak louder than words my dear friend
so much louder
as i sit alone on a cliff of the figment of my imagination
these actions echo and resonate through out the canyon
and these words that mean nothing to me are like the writing on my
bottom of my shoe.
i stand on them, but they change nothing.
there or not there.
my life goes on.
i feel like i'm always too much.
too sarcastic
too city
too silly
not serious enough
too serious
too backwoods
it changes from each person
but i never feel like me.
maybe thats why its the canyon and me today
because my other half
is struggling with the same thing
but I'm here buddy.
i'm waiting for you.
I'm lonely
I'm trying to be content.
I'm trying so hard.
I hope, I'm right for you.
I hope you enjoy me for me.
I hope you like that I like to get dressed up.
I hope you enjoy the fact that I wear heels
I hope you enjoy the fact that I like to cause trouble
Some how I know you will.
Together, we will be one.
And when you finally rescue me from my lonely castle on the hill,
I'll put my arm in the crook of your arm and smile at you.
Knowing you complete me. every little last complex section of me.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
The Picture
I saw a picture tonight, a picture of someone I have heard so much about but only now know what she looks like. My heart stopped when I realized who it was...but it didn't bother me as much as I thought it would. For some reason she, above them all, has bothered me the most. And I know why...it's because of something that was said...something she had wanted to do. She had wanted to come see him and he said, "yes...as long as Jamie is with me." And she got upset with him. I had never even talked to her before, never saw her picture until just now. I find her...not threatening...but just annoying.
But it's comforting...
she isn't as pretty as I thought.
And even if she were the most beautiful woman alive,
my bear loves me.
And that is what matters.
But it's comforting...
she isn't as pretty as I thought.
And even if she were the most beautiful woman alive,
my bear loves me.
And that is what matters.
Friday, September 14, 2007
and thats what you get for falling again
i guess i wonder why my heart still feels at all.
like a calloused hand, wounded over and over again
it s such a hurt heart
the scars it carries go deep, and memories sting
jimmy eat world says no one cares.
today is one of those days where i feel like that nerd
in eight grade, sitting in drama class, looking at the popular girls
wondering what piece i was missing.
i never found that piece.
i'm in the corner
watching what i want pass by.
i wonder why my sister looks up to me.
i wonder why jamie looks up to me.
the nerd in the corner is taking over.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
a hiaku on how i feel
bangs please hide sad eyes
blue in green plays in my head
i will get over it
like a calloused hand, wounded over and over again
it s such a hurt heart
the scars it carries go deep, and memories sting
jimmy eat world says no one cares.
today is one of those days where i feel like that nerd
in eight grade, sitting in drama class, looking at the popular girls
wondering what piece i was missing.
i never found that piece.
i'm in the corner
watching what i want pass by.
i wonder why my sister looks up to me.
i wonder why jamie looks up to me.
the nerd in the corner is taking over.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
a hiaku on how i feel
bangs please hide sad eyes
blue in green plays in my head
i will get over it
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Simple wins the War
I sat in English class today
discussing The Red Wheelbarrow
as in, they who don't know my name
talked, and I looked out the window
for a moment.
Grey sky outside, blooming in me
softness and joy of belonging
at home with family in the winter evening
with stovetops and cushions and sleeping through the end
of a movie.
I saw grey sky and a red jacket bent over;
an old man with white hair
moving slower than I would
to the brick built theater building.
such soft joy filled the english class then
so much depends upon
the simplicities of life
it took him two minutes to write
The Red Wheelbarrow.
I like the reading best
that says so much depends upon beauty,
and so much depends upon
seeing old men in the fall
in the middle of entangling discussions of a
poem.
discussing The Red Wheelbarrow
as in, they who don't know my name
talked, and I looked out the window
for a moment.
Grey sky outside, blooming in me
softness and joy of belonging
at home with family in the winter evening
with stovetops and cushions and sleeping through the end
of a movie.
I saw grey sky and a red jacket bent over;
an old man with white hair
moving slower than I would
to the brick built theater building.
such soft joy filled the english class then
so much depends upon
the simplicities of life
it took him two minutes to write
The Red Wheelbarrow.
I like the reading best
that says so much depends upon beauty,
and so much depends upon
seeing old men in the fall
in the middle of entangling discussions of a
poem.
Friday, September 7, 2007
They Call me Shorty
I went to Karine's tonight
apart
108
meant
s
e
p
e
r
a
t
e
t
*h
e
*n
together
***************like 310*****************
(but different)
apart
108
meant
s
e
p
e
r
a
t
e
t
*h
e
*n
together
***************like 310*****************
(but different)
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
A Fine Wine
My favorite teacher here at school is Dr. Simons. I've never heard him saying anything obscene or even entirely offensive. The thing about Doc is that his words contain so much power and the force behind them leaves you with a sense of respect for what he says...regardless of what it is. His every opinion, belief, command is filled with such conviction and confidence. He's harsh. But he makes me want to be a better person. And for all of his gruffocity, there is a gentleness behind his thunder. A gentleness refined by age and wisdom. He's understanding...but holds my feet to the fire.
One of my favorite things about Doc is his storytelling, his reminiscing of the way life was when he was our age; his memories of Woody his wife, like yesterday when he told the class a detailed account of the first time he laid eyes on her. Her back was turned towards him and she was facing a mirror, applying her lipstick, wearing a navy blue wool skirt and blue wool sweater her hair in a fashionable up-do. And he couldn't move he was so captivated by her beauty. He loves her so much...
But one of the things that I most appreciate about him is his understanding of where we are in our lives at this moment. This limbo, this purgatory of being on our own, of breaking away from our families, but not yet having one of our own. This place is hard. Part of you wants that security of the familiar nest...but part of you enjoys this lone adventuring. And you're torn between two worlds, two ways of life...but you know that the only way is forward, no matter if you don't know how you will get even one step farther.
Doc Simon's prayer before every class goes something like this: Thank You for Your mercy and grace. Bless each student here. Keep us from evil and keep evil from us.
And this semester he adds: and provide for the needs of each student here.
My car broke down...it still runs but I don't think its safe to drive. I live 20-30 minutes away from school and my prayer for the past 24 hours has been, "give me faith to believe that you will provide." I know He will. But I want my faith to be kept...firm. And I need help with that...so I ask Him to help me.
I'll let you know how things progress.
Pray for me if you get the chance.
One of my favorite things about Doc is his storytelling, his reminiscing of the way life was when he was our age; his memories of Woody his wife, like yesterday when he told the class a detailed account of the first time he laid eyes on her. Her back was turned towards him and she was facing a mirror, applying her lipstick, wearing a navy blue wool skirt and blue wool sweater her hair in a fashionable up-do. And he couldn't move he was so captivated by her beauty. He loves her so much...
But one of the things that I most appreciate about him is his understanding of where we are in our lives at this moment. This limbo, this purgatory of being on our own, of breaking away from our families, but not yet having one of our own. This place is hard. Part of you wants that security of the familiar nest...but part of you enjoys this lone adventuring. And you're torn between two worlds, two ways of life...but you know that the only way is forward, no matter if you don't know how you will get even one step farther.
Doc Simon's prayer before every class goes something like this: Thank You for Your mercy and grace. Bless each student here. Keep us from evil and keep evil from us.
And this semester he adds: and provide for the needs of each student here.
My car broke down...it still runs but I don't think its safe to drive. I live 20-30 minutes away from school and my prayer for the past 24 hours has been, "give me faith to believe that you will provide." I know He will. But I want my faith to be kept...firm. And I need help with that...so I ask Him to help me.
I'll let you know how things progress.
Pray for me if you get the chance.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
"Sool"
When I was 7 or 8 years old, our elderly neighbors used to have thier grandchildren visit them from Alaska. I don't remember the little girls name, but Ryan was a little boy, about 4 or 5, who was fascinated by airplanes and liked to help Jake and I build mud roads on which our tractors, trucks, and cars would "drive" on. He pronounced "school" as "sool" and for some reason I have never forgotten that.
It is my second week of "sool" and for the most part it has not been entirely gruesome. The fun starts now, though, as we are already discussing and planning our group projects for the end of the semester. I have to do a lot of reading for class discussion tomorrow. My book is probably lost in the mail as I have yet to receive it so I'm hoping the library has it in stock.
I am tired.
Karine and I used to wake up last semester and the first topic we would discuss was when we were going to take our nap that day. Right after chapel? I get out at this time...let's do a 15 minute power nap in this time slot... And then we would lock our doors and Karine's I-tunes would softly play in the background and if anyone tried to contact us...it wasn't going to happen. Naps were sacred in 310, one of the many things I miss about it. Today I work at 4. I will probably be home around 2 so that gives me about an hour nap before I have to get ready for work. AN HOUR! I'm quite excited about that...and tomorrow I get to sleep in, a luxury that I have unfortunately grown used to.
Tomorrow is homework day.
I like that I have 2 days a week that can be completely devoted to homework.
Karine makes me laugh. We are so different from each other in virtually every single way. I am in my khaki capris and a purple/fuscha t-shirt and flip flops...my hair is up because its too hot to straighten it...and Karine shows up to class in a pencil skirt, with a brown shirt tucked in, brown heels and ( if I remember correctly) a clutch.
Karine eats like a civilized being in the caf.
I eat a chicken leg out of a zip lock bag...in class.
Karine communicates very well. She plays, she banters, she takes charge and Karine most likely has that number you've been looking for in her cell phone. She's classy. Sophisticated. And has a heart as wide and deep as the unexplored ocean. I admire that kid.
And me?
Well, I prefer to be comfortable rather than fashionable. But I do make sure that I am at least semi-presentable...I don't wear pencil skirts to class but I make sure I look tidy. And whereas Karine is bold and daring when it comes to talking with people, I am more reserved and quiet...and most likely the one to make a fool of herself in a conversation..."are you Ben?...oh...you're Joel. Now I remember!" What a tard...
But Karine loves me.
And I love Karine.
She is the yin and I am the yang...
and for all of our differences,
we do have similarites,
and we have a unique friendship.
I love that kid.
Well...
I'm off to find the book...
It is my second week of "sool" and for the most part it has not been entirely gruesome. The fun starts now, though, as we are already discussing and planning our group projects for the end of the semester. I have to do a lot of reading for class discussion tomorrow. My book is probably lost in the mail as I have yet to receive it so I'm hoping the library has it in stock.
I am tired.
Karine and I used to wake up last semester and the first topic we would discuss was when we were going to take our nap that day. Right after chapel? I get out at this time...let's do a 15 minute power nap in this time slot... And then we would lock our doors and Karine's I-tunes would softly play in the background and if anyone tried to contact us...it wasn't going to happen. Naps were sacred in 310, one of the many things I miss about it. Today I work at 4. I will probably be home around 2 so that gives me about an hour nap before I have to get ready for work. AN HOUR! I'm quite excited about that...and tomorrow I get to sleep in, a luxury that I have unfortunately grown used to.
Tomorrow is homework day.
I like that I have 2 days a week that can be completely devoted to homework.
Karine makes me laugh. We are so different from each other in virtually every single way. I am in my khaki capris and a purple/fuscha t-shirt and flip flops...my hair is up because its too hot to straighten it...and Karine shows up to class in a pencil skirt, with a brown shirt tucked in, brown heels and ( if I remember correctly) a clutch.
Karine eats like a civilized being in the caf.
I eat a chicken leg out of a zip lock bag...in class.
Karine communicates very well. She plays, she banters, she takes charge and Karine most likely has that number you've been looking for in her cell phone. She's classy. Sophisticated. And has a heart as wide and deep as the unexplored ocean. I admire that kid.
And me?
Well, I prefer to be comfortable rather than fashionable. But I do make sure that I am at least semi-presentable...I don't wear pencil skirts to class but I make sure I look tidy. And whereas Karine is bold and daring when it comes to talking with people, I am more reserved and quiet...and most likely the one to make a fool of herself in a conversation..."are you Ben?...oh...you're Joel. Now I remember!" What a tard...
But Karine loves me.
And I love Karine.
She is the yin and I am the yang...
and for all of our differences,
we do have similarites,
and we have a unique friendship.
I love that kid.
Well...
I'm off to find the book...
Monday, September 3, 2007
time is running out
Dearest Blog,
I have not given you up. Life is crazy. I'm trying to make sense of it all. School just started, its my last year blog dearest. Give me time to settle down. Allow my thoughts to fall to the ground like autumn leaves. Then, like the girl in Boys of Summer, i will return to you. Because I know you'll be here, after the boys of summer have gone.
I have not given you up. Life is crazy. I'm trying to make sense of it all. School just started, its my last year blog dearest. Give me time to settle down. Allow my thoughts to fall to the ground like autumn leaves. Then, like the girl in Boys of Summer, i will return to you. Because I know you'll be here, after the boys of summer have gone.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)