Let me burden you with many many days of idle spinnings, lest they perish with this job.

-The further I get from childhood, the less I desire pity from peers or �periors.
As an elementary school girl I would indulge in elaborate day fantasies about vomiting on my desk, or black-out collapsing in a heap during gym class. Classmates would crowd around me, freaked out; and somewhere in this fantasy, I also dwelt on the notion that they must discover in my post-ordeal examinations that I was secretly rich�noticing that my clothing was fine, or that I wore delicate gold jewelry. In fact we were poor.
Which brings me to say, Whatever your stance on children, you have to admit that they are wholly bizarre from an adult perspective.

-I�ve been made very grateful that my constitution is set to be endlessly amused by �idleness�. I delight at the idea of writing a grocery list in fancy font. And then, looking at it.

-All things considered, it couldn�t have been sweeter.

-They look more like brittle claws than hands.

-From what I�ve seen, not many this young and good, know desperation this limiting.
Her worth and self-conception have been channeled into mothering since, what were in actuality, her own formative years- and with the realization that no more children will be born, a mania with the youngest seems to be setting in. What will happen?
When I imagine her in a stimulating, honest situation; I feel pained by the happy, fruited creature it made. But, this present reality: her flush acceptance of sacrifice, and her strength via emotional tribulation, is not at all without beauty and benefit. Maybe full of dysfunctional facets and what must be false fronts, but to me, too personally moving and admirable to even tell her properly, though I�ve tried.
In a fantastic fix, I propose that we joint together, reinforce the other�s feeble parts, and never have troubles again.

-I�ve been less scared of the elder life after I had a pleasant day dream last Sunday: decrepit self moving next door to Lindsey, living the paced life, contemplating my done deeds and impending death. We�d have tea and cream of wheat in the morning, and her husband has been deceased for quite a while. If I�m diligent at keeping my mind, I�d like to believe this epoch of my life will yield great strides in terms of mental operation and sorting things out, as I predict that I won�t care about anything normal, and will probably know fewer boundaries.

-I guess I�ve got a bit of wanderlust lately. I just sit and drip all over the places I�ve been.

-Don�t you remember that I can�t spell�..on paper?

-The things I really like to do in Idaho, are almost strictly unhealthy pleasures (in both economy & body):
::Going in the early morning hours to Walmart, with Noah, to buy a cookie or some such perishable, and maybe some cheap yarn or a nail file or whatever, really.
::Drinking a LOT of soda- the cast of cohorts is endless up there.
::Grilled cheese at the Sonic chain
::Veggie Max at the elusive Blimpie chain
::Running errands with Mom- buying tights I don�t need at Ross DFL or maybe some expired novelty mascara at McFrugals (dangerous!)
::Getting sweet coffees with Lindsey at whatever H.H. we can find
::Buying too much at the thrift shops
It�s gross perhaps, but somewhere along the way I swore I would never abandon my affections.

-I developed tender feelings for a stranger on the bus Saturday. These feelings I immediately distrusted, but wallowed in anyhow, as it hadn�t happened for so long that I couldn�t remember when. I guessed that somewhere in my hormonal fluxes I had recaptured something of my teenage winsomeness, which was allowed; but with it, I felt once again detrimentally porous, and open to whatever awful thing wanted me.
This had physical manifestations: head felt heavier, neck tendons twitched, chin drifted chestward, and I felt that if somebody just touched me, my head would fall to relieve itself on them someplace, muttering weepy unspeakables, later to regret.
After exiting the bus in this temperament, I made a rather rash decision regarding my new eyeglass frames.
The next day I sat, reeling and overwhelmed in a room with three other people whom I care for- but didn�t want to be around, as I became increasingly bloated with, what I guess is Horror, as I watched them. Imagining psychologies for these individuals one by one; the result of everything they�ve ever heard, seen, or been told, involuntarily acted out in front of me, and in my mood felt to be inflicted on, and absorbed by me�and likewise everybody they know. Is this wonderful or horrible? Admittedly, there are times I can�t feel the difference.
I still have some indiscernible dread left over from the way I felt, I still have some things I could mutter, but the petal tenderness for strangers is gone. Which is too bad, because I often miss it.

-Questions that I answer with an indiscernible mumble, or �I don�t know� will often unwittingly haunt me.
An answer will often come suddenly, much later. And often it�s pretty lame, but in my introspection, seems poignant in its simplicity.
Today:
Q: Where did you learn to dance that way?
A: Where do we learn to do anything?
What?

The magnolia petal looked like dessert. I took a modest bite, just in case.
Review: BITTER, but buttery texture.