"If they give you ruled paper, write the other way." -Juan Ramon Jiminez

Saturday, April 17, 2004

If one has a fantastic dream that made one feel warm and special, yet one doesn't remember the dream, was there a dream?

The other day, I found myself at a park with Charles, Marc and Powers. I hadn't been to this park since I was about five, when I lived with my grandmother. My last memory of it was walking quickly past it accross the street with my mom and brother, because we did not want to incur the wrath of the wasps living in the sand there. Marc and I used the seesaw. Yet another memory: sitting on one with my brother. While high in the air, my brother, next to the ground, decides he's done playing.He gets off. My chin hits the metal. Dazed, but no blood. Did not use a seesaw until now.

Powers' house yesterday. I discovered I suck at spinning wars, I have no balance, I am addicted to vanilla chai and boys in girly pants, and [according to Marc] I like crappy music.

There was more, but I's sleepy.


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