Current Mood: Pre-sprung, edgy, tense. Antsy, perhaps. Somber, but brewing.
Current Song: Pissing by Low
(Lyrics: I can't see. Sing the darker of pissing on my toes. Knowing what I know I know. I'm waiting like a loyal whore. Under every stone
Lovers sleep alone. Alone. Alone. Lovers sleep alone. Alone. Alone.)
Current Game: KOTOR II
Current Book: Ariel - Sylvia Plath
Current Random Quirk: Sucking on my bottom lip.
Current Obsession: Scott

Today is hard. It's raining outside and it fits my mood, but I don't feel like I fit into my skin and my life right now. Andrea called me this morning to tell me that Su had a miscarriage, and that's why she wasn't at work half of last week. Last week was the first time I heard that Dan had quit all his jobs because going to school for 18 credits this semester at Su's urging is taking up all of his time. He and I haven't talked in a month. He doesn't need me anymore, and it's odd to feel that sort of letting go. It was just wierd, because last night I had my dream again... the one where I'm stuck taking care of their unwanted baby because I have nothing better to do with my life, and I'm the only person out of the awkward three of us who cares about it. It was different than usual, though. A lot darker, more tense and full of undercurrents in the flow of things. Winds of change are stirring mid-October. I love this time of year, because the world turns shadow and grey and you feel every breath and going outside makes your skin tingle. I get my best writing this time of year. I feel like writing something right now, but nothing good will come out. There's a poem stuck in me, and I'm too preoccupied to get it out right.

Last night I went for a walk with Scott, and we talked about stuff. About life. It was our first really serious talk, and it was interesting. He has a lot of the same feelings about things that I do. The same kind of questions, the same kind of reclining doubts. We went to his car when it started to rain, and talking led to other things. I really, really like him, but I wonder if it's just some sort of compensation for the hole of recent pasts inside of me.

Everyone gets hungry for things.

So I took my guitar
and I threw down some chords,
and some words I could sing without shame.

And I soon had a song,
I played it around
for some friends but they all said the same:

They said, "Music's for fools,
you should go back to school.
The future is prisons in math."

So I did what they said.
Now my children are fed,
'cause they pay me to do what I'm asked.

I forgot all my songs.
The words now were wrong,
and I burned my guitar in a rage.

But the fire came to rest
in your white velvet breast,
so somehow I just know that it's safe...

- "Death of a Salesman" by Low