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It looks like some of the pressed leaves fell out on the carpet; I wouldn't be surprised if there were other things too.

On two separate topics of Cardboard:

I think I will have enough for cardboard armor soon, even though I don't know how I'll ever fit my torso legs and all inside.

I think you have a box, too... it's just a bigger one. Tell me what constitutes a boxless person.

I had a very strange dream last night in which I got to show you all the things I once figured I was learning For You (/To Spite You). But your sister was the one who brought me back, and I kept having to wash my hands because you were allergic when I know you Aren't Allergic. All for naught.

About Disappearing.

There always seem to be things for dealing with, and as long as I am not dealing with them, I will not have to think about how un-dealt with they are.

Or maybe I will have to think about it more...

What is so difficult about Just Getting It Over With?

It must be the self part. Or maybe the knowledge that it over doesn't really mean over, but one step towards something ongoing

It Has Been Very Windy and Cold.

How do people go about ranking things when running through the possibilities? It seems to be that fear and nervousness are not directly proportional solely to the number of potential outcomes, but also to their magnitude, graveness. If it is true, how did my good-to-neutral window become so small?

Or perhaps I never had any shades of gray to work with [yes, I'm glad you read about it and can give me a Term which will be so aptly chosen that I might find it Painfully Obvious given the price of you announcing it].

That would explain everything getting so Old so quickly. Not quickly enough to be a completely different personality trait, but quickly enough to be a hindrance to the one I surely must possess...

It is very tiring to be moving up and down so frequently and so quickly. There are so many things to worry about in between.

Sometimes I get too tired to put wood or water where it belongs.

(Or on a completely separate note, to move my sisters laundry, as she has requested, in the middle of the night)

I thought I was learning the Art of Decision Making. But all I have learned is that Making a Decision is even more complicated than I had previously assessed, and I will probably live out the duration of my life as a Rock.

I am happy that so many good things have been happening to you, though I don't know much about you anymore. And what I do know, you will know not enough of what it is to find this message pointed at you.


The Ever-Remade-and-Rebroken Resolution

Today, while sitting by the wall in Logic, I studied the hair parts of the professor and the students between us, the thread counts on sweaters, and the types of head warming gear under desks.

Today, while sitting in the tip-toppitiest row of International Relations, I ate a package of peanut M&Ms in rainbow order.

Today, while sitting in the back of Intermediate Micro, I used my new mechanical pencil to draw an onion, a pumpkin, a fairy, and a comet.

I haven't even gotten to calculus yet and I'm already somewhere else.

Chili Powder

It happens every now and again that when I should be experiencing excitement I am instead experiencing extreme nervousness.

Sometimes when my roommate brings her friends over I just sit behind my desk, listening to their conversations even though I can't understand a word of it.
Sometimes I think its not worth it to dart through groups of cut-throat speed-shopping bargain-hunters to get fourty discount fruit cups.

Especially not with a family history of being run down by shopping carts.

And As For Fire Escapes

When I started this journal and titled it "Sitting on the Fire Escape" I'd never actually been on a fire escape.

I climbed one for the first time this fall and I was absolutely terrified. I don't know why I'd always thought a fire escape would be a place of thought and meditation. At least the fire escape thoughts were good ones; I told myself that they'd best be worth thinking if they were going to be my last.


My hamster is deathly afraid of me...
... that is, he's approximately as afraid of me as I am of him.

When I walk in the room he leaps down his plastic pink tube.
When he comes toward the cage door as I open it, I dart my hand back away from him.

I am, after all, the one who keeps changing his well-arranged food-store-filled bedding.
And he's the one who thinks my hand is a piece of hamster kibble.

Someone once told me that hamsters think they're going somewhere when they run on their wheels, that they can run two miles per day... I see him stop every now and again, glance around the cage and keep running again. I wonder if he convinces himself that something is different, if he just can't remember how things were, or if he runs in frustration until he gives up...

I was browsing the internet today for tips on training hamsters. I found a website that generates pet hamster names (especially cuddly ones, conducive to friendly person-hamster relations, the link advertises), and another boasting the web's longest list of hamster names.

My hamster is named Roland. This name apparently means Famous Land, or perhaps, Famed Throughout the Land. This I can't interpret as any indicator of our relationship, but maybe it explains his mindset during his determined runs on the hamster wheel.
I am in a very dry house. I don't remember this house being so dry, and maybe its drying up from the outside in, or maybe I'm too wind-battered to say just where the dryness is coming from... but either way, it matters only in that my lips and knuckles will turn to dust before this keyboard does. The outlet has been chosen then, if on lifespan alone.

I will think about external chapped-ness and ignore the internal decay [on certain terms with myself, these being that the internal will be well considered in a weeks time... and surely a week or several will pass before In A Weeks Time presents itself, sly dog]

Is it possible that in an effort to keep my brain from too much Exposure, I have taken the beating in cracked skin instead?

I am feeling around for words and catching only hair and bones.


It is the first time I've ever come here feeling like I'm not looking for anything. If I'm not looking for anything, I'm not sure why I'm here at all. Especially if I've got nothing to say. Maybe its like, if I let it ring hollow, it will fall off less like a limb and more like hairball. You know what? The other day I couldn't even give a good life lessons to my sister's friends. All these things are coming into my head but I can't analyze them anymore, even for a joke. Ok. This week I'm going to get a joke. A good one. Take this moment to refine myself, restructure my catalogue of apologies, rebuild my gigantic ego.

look a bear!