Been reading lots of Nicole Blackman lately. Letting daughter and iris and breath control take me back to that place I was as a senior when I loved poetry and being a badass bitch, and clomping around in my monster-stompin' boots. blue black brown black black black. Makes me wonder who I would've turned out to be if it hadn't been for Karl. I stopped wearing lotsa chains around my neck when he was around, the easier for him to kiss it. The easier for me to not worry that he thought I was a freak.

Got to talk to my beautiful brother tonight. Sorry, Your Princess Is In Another Castle has an upcoming gig that they were practicing for today, instead of studying calculus. (I suppose it's harder to get a motivating crush on one's teacher when in Mr. White's class. Mr. White doesn't whip out the plastic sax for October 25.) I'm gonna jam with Slade this summer! He's going to teach me to play either the guitar or to bang up some shit on the drums. It's ever so appealing to imagine carrying an acoutic guitar around campus: I could've played used to you for Mike, and I'll give the whole night to Elena, I know Pallavi has a soft spot for falling is like this (and so do I), and um, deep dish, nicholas? I could just sing joyful girl over and over forever...

(Pros for learning the drums: I could be a Half-Japanese Girl! Except, probably, I couldn't. Since Mike wants me not around at least as much as Jason wants me around. And poor Mike Lewis just doesn't want to be an asshole. Oh, and another pro: taking out stress on things that can handle it. Unlike my poor head. Drums make cool loud noises when you're pissed, too!)

Little Slade's going to his prom next weekend. He looks so snazzy in a tux, I wish I could be there to see him off, even if prom is an antiquated and pretentious (oh, so orchidaceous, at the Day School) waste of a good Saturday night. I suppose you could always just use it as an excuse to get sex though. Apparently, it's pretty much required.

The straight-up writing is harder, not easier. Everyone is used to filling out a form; not so used to letting their brain splatter randomly.