I have returned from the far south-the land of san diego. It's sort of flooding there by the way. I've been trying to be functional but my body won't obey. "Sleep," it whispers softly to me, "sleep."

Camera

My camera should be coming sometime today. I'm so happy ^_^

the LABYRINTH

I dreamt of beauty. Everything was made of colored glass: trees, leaves, grass, and sky. When I took a step the glass beneath my feet would shatter and a low steady hummmmm would fill the air. As the sun rose, and rays of light glinted against the glass, the rays would split. The air was filled with color. 

a conversation

My friend instant messaged me the other day, “I’m really hungry. I’m really, really hungry. Is it ok if I eat my friend?” I sat back in my chair to consider this for awhile. The answer I came up with was, “Cannibalism is never ok.” “Oh,” she replied, “my friend is an apple. It wouldn’t be cannibalism.” Another pause: “Friends don’t eat friends.”

Infants

I am in my class for child/adult relations. The students are scattered about the room, evenly dispersed at each available table. Two, three, two three. The teacher is talking about infants. “If an infant does not create an emotional bond, they will end up with severe personality disorders.”

The Secret of Kell

Adventures of a Writing Center

I arrived at the writing center minutes before my shift started, headphones on, unaware of my surroundings. The Decemberists were blasting in my ears, gently tickling my eardrum and someone walked into the room. I glanced up, music still blasting. She talked; I could tell because her mouth was moving. I gave her a halfhearted smile, but she continued moving her mouth. I let out a sigh and pulled my earphones down. She was telling me something of no consequence. She had given me another appointment because she took lunch. Ya. Sure. Ok.

English second language student. Bob*. English second language student. The theme of the day is nutrition and obesity. Everyone always writes about obesity. I would like some creativity to lift my monochromatic spirit. Maybe a paper on why America is not in an obesity epidemic. Maybe a paper on the undeniable proof of the prehistoric existence of unicorns. That would be nice.

There are not many students in here today. “Wendy,” Bob says in a soft voice, “am I getting better at reading?” He asks me this often. ”Yes, Bob, you are getting much better. I like hearing you read.” “Good job Wendy. You do such a good job.” “No Bob, YOUR doing such a good job.” “I know. It makes me feel better to say it.”

It is cloudy. It is Friday. This combination means that most of our appointments won’t show up. Clouds send a biological message to students that says, “It’s going to storm soon. Just stay inside.” It keeps college students from getting lost in a storm.  This is a survival technique. Besides, all of their homework would get wet.

I had a strange combination of macaroni and cheese mixed with honey mustard for lunch. 

XD

Alice in Wonderland

It is absolutely impossible to fall out of love. That is why love is so dangerous. I’ve seen it tried. I’ve seen it fail. The heart is like a tunnel; once something shoves its way inside, it is impossible to squeeze back out again. The love of your life that left you? You still love them. Try and fight it.

Often the technique that is used is hatred. A person uses this dangerous weapon against the thing that is causing them pain. It’s dangerous. Hate is a weapon that strikes at anything. It has no way of knowing what the target is and what is not. Use that weapon in your own heart, and you will cut up the heart.

It is true that some people seem to recover from love quite easily. I think the secret is they weren't truly in love. Perhaps they just thought they were. We are constantly pressured into thinking that love is the most important thing in life. I won't say its true. I won't say it isn't true. I will say that because of this, a large game has been created in the fields of love, and it's dangerous and cruel.

I was driving down the road the other day and I saw death through a window. In the darkness there was a light. It allowed me to see inside the large open window of the ambulance as it drove silently along the freeway. We coasted together, going the same speed, while I watched the wires and the buttons and the movement that was fighting against death. The silence was unsettling.

Sunday some of my thoughts bent and twisted. Some of my opinions changed. It isn’t a big event. These things happen all the time every day. I doubt I will even remember the subtle shift in a year. I am reminded of the scene from Alice. She drinks the bottle and shrinks leaving the key on the table. She eats something and grows. Shrinks. Grows. shrinks. Now she’s been so many different sizes, she can’t tell who she is anymore.

The sun is shinning today and I am feeling peaceful.
Now it is lunch time. I want soup.

 curiouser and curiouser

kimya dawson

oh dear

the cardboard box I use as a side table is caving in...

A field of Flowers

Today it is sunny. The sunlight streams through the large windows of my work in strands through the dust filled air, and I sit, deciding my destiny. Sometimes it feels like things are changing but not really in any solid tactile way. It can be frustrating.  I am still writing, but it isn’t in a very solid or tactile way either; maybe that’s my problem. 

I am feeling lazy today. It’s holding me tightly in its arms and I feel like I’m breathing sickly sweet summer time air. I want to lie in a field of flowers and fall asleep with the sun on my eyelids. I want to hear a stream bubbling softly, telling me its historic secrets.

Things at work – due to my lack of gossiping tendency and the secrecy and private initiation that all tutors are supposed to have, I can’t tell you specifics but the water is leaking through the walls and the entire dam is going to break soon. I’m not entirely sure what is going to happen but I must say plainly that I don’t care. I am thinking about long silky ribbons of blues and oranges drifting elegantly through the air. Strange thought, but comforting.

There are a lot of babies in my family now. There is Ethan and Rose and Toma and Neko and another baby almost here. Can life repeat itself?  It does every day.  People think that we don’t live long enough in this life, but we can be no judges because we have known nothing else, but the world is old. The only thing older is the universe and God. What knowledge and foresight would I have if I was that old.

I am going to be 22 soon. Is that old? Really? I think I’m still a baby.

http://www.wildernessbooks.com/lee/lee/photo/field_of_flowers.jpg

Hair cut

I lift my brown limp locks without much gusto. The time has come for a haircut. But, what?
Help me decide

Think cute thoughts

It’s that time of year again; my least favorite holiday. I don’t celebrate holidays, so you would think me completely unaffected by the hum and excitement that surround them: not so. It’s impossible to not be surrounded by it. Everyone has the ‘it’s a holiday’ aura.

The ‘it’s Halloween’ aura is the worst. It’s the one holiday that actually goes against my personality.

I will hide away in my room for the weekend, listening to grotesquely happy music, drinking soup and tea, and ignoring the laughter and knocks and doorbell dings echoing throughout the neighborhood. I like costumes: no, I love costumes. I love the idea of temporarily shifting into the embodiment of someone else for a night. But I hate Horror. What does this holiday really stand for?

 www.dailycute.net

fruits basket

Fruits Basket it my favorite show in the whole world. Watch this and feel happy (you should watch it if you have never seen it)

Clouds

 The clouds roll pleasantly along the sky, watching the people below. Their color is no indication of their mood; black clouds are no more agitated then white clouds, a common misconception. These gray clouds are responsible for a cold, vague world. The rain has stopped; everything is silent, waiting for what will come to come.
My mind wanders away, going from subject to subject, darting hectically.

I found these pictures from a cute site: http://daughterearth.com/blog/tag/illustrator/
I love the colors in here and the concepts. 
"Daughter Earth spreads awareness of endangered species and habitat conservation through the artful design of environmentally conscious clothing, accessories and housewares.  A portion of their profits are donated to conservation organizations which protect the animals and habitats featured in their artwork.  In addition, Daughter Earth works hands-on with these charities to promote their messages."

And a sprinkle of...

Your musical clip of the week!

Back to my roots

I was getting bitter - a gnawing, unsettling anger was drifting over my vision and now it has cleared. I was losing myself because I am a romantic and no one had any love. It was pulling away my beliefs, with long thin pale fingers, scratching and growling. And now the hands are gone. I am happy. I am at peace. True love exists and love at first sight happens everyday. If you don't believe me, I have no way of proving it. It's a sort of catch that love at first sight never happens to people that don't believe in it. Are you afraid that you won't find it becuase it hasn't happened yet? I was too. Do you think that if you cover your heart in leather, it won't bleed? I did that too. It wasn't worth it. Have I found love yet? no. Will I? Yes, I am certain of that.

http://keturahweathers.theworldrace.org/?filename=og-love

a dream

I had the dream again. I sit against the polished black wall of the piano, my back slumped at an awkward yet comfort angle. I can feel the force of the music, as each note slides through me, vibrating comfortingly. My eyes are closed but I know he is there, playing for me. I hug my knees closer to my chest and smile.

Lost Wendy

Lost Wendy

Bolted during midterms 10/13/10 – Shasta College area

Last seen at her home in Redding

Female-21 years old – Brown hair brown eyes – Caucasian

No collar

Call Wendy 440-0516

Happy happy happy happy Happy happy happy happy Happy happy happy

I have been instructed by my sister to be blindingly happy like I usually am. For those of you that don’t know me, I am blindingly happy.

All I have to do is to find myself

Apocolyptic ramblings

Blog #10
It is October 13, 2010. My food supply is still highly limited; just a square of meatloaf and a pear. Lunch is scheduled for 12 p.m. sharp, but I am inclined to believe that I will have to venture out into the world for more food before this day is done. I can’t think of a safe method. My evacuation vehicle had to be parked on the far side of the campus to insure many monies in my wallet.
No word yet from the Society of Good Things to Come. I am starting to think that they are avoiding me on purpose. Perhaps my letter got lost in the mail; things like that happen all the time. No word also from the newspaper on the competition that I surely must have won. No one could possibly have written a story as amazing as mine. They must also be avoiding me.

Today’s most distressing point – hovering vs. avoidance

Today’s most wonderful point – I will be observing little babies and toddlers for a large chunk of my day.

#1 list item – Taking care of my ticket.

Most prevailing feeling – lonliness

Greatest desire – It is a tie between the ceiling transforming into an intricate web of fluttering butterflies or finding a super cheap ticket to San Diego.

Result – undetermined

My Polaroid camera has come in the mail. Film, however, is more expensive then I originally thought. I need to find an alternative that fits the 600 Polaroid that my camera was designed to use. Fuji film or some weird business called the impossible project.

My other camera, in case you are wondering, is not working properly and my heart is not working properly because of it.

I have to stop checking my phone.

Monthly Update - October 2010

Real life threatens to break down the door. I have my body shoved up against it, but it’s strong.

My school semester is almost half over. Midterms are coming up, which means that I’m going to have to try and shove information into my brain. Despite this setback, classes are going well. I keep shifting in my opinion of my future, though. I still don’t know, “what I want to be when I grow up.” I never intended to actually grow up you know reader. I’ve been putting it off for a long time and it’s become something of a habit. Medical Coding is my most challenging class by far, but it’s also the one I get the most fulfillment out of. I haven’t had this kind of challenge in a long time.
My little baby niece was born this morning in the wee hours of the day. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. I am now the aunt of two amazing creatures. I have also come to the conclusion that I can’t live in step and halves with regards to family. My sister in law is my sister; my second cousin is my nephew; my friend is my sister. It simplifies everything and makes me feel closer to the people I care the most about.
We are a clan; a tribe; a unit
Do you want to become a part of my tribe?

I am bidding on a Polaroid camera off of eBay. If I get it I will have a photo of the week to go along with my ramblings

The Weekend

Rain: Water falling from the sky. Have you ever heard of anything so strange? “Be patient like a rainbow” It was raining yesterday and now the sky is a wash of blue.

Saturday I went to the farmers market. I love the sounds and the colors and the images, but mostly the smells. Nothing smells as good as what wafts out from under the large tents, people milling around, excitement, eagerness, food. I bought enough food for a soup that I made later that afternoon, and satisfaction welled in me, watching the path the ingredients had taken till their end: my mouth.

Then rush, rush, hurry, to a party. I remember black and white and red. A family was moving down to San Diego. I’ll miss the little girl’s singing. On one of the tables were the most adorable butterfly cupcakes that I had ever seen. I wish I could make beautiful things out of food. It would take practice and diligence. I am not the most diligent of personalities.

Stomach ache: head home. Miss the volunteer picnic that I had been looking forward to.

Wake up. Sleep. Wake up. Head downstairs and talk and make the large room upstairs a spa. My mom and I watch out the window at the gray transparent sky, our faces green from the facial. The moist air whispers against my neck and I am peaceful.

Meeting and my soul sings. Fear as I raise my hand timidly, “Sister Wright.” They call. They made a mistake. I’m not baptized yet, and so I’m only Wendy. I am not yet their sister. I read from the Bible, one of my favorite things to do. Pride.

Home: I Watch Cinderella sing about her corner, her space. Sleep.

My weekend

Now the week had begun and my fragments end. Weeks are full of large complex and practical sentences. They are filled with words like work and study and effort. I am at work right now. There are people around me working on various assignments, their faces a blank canvas. The only emotion that registers is concentration. I have become an expert at spotting concentration. It’s all that I see all day long.

newspaper competition

Imagine: a dark, starry night. A woman drove silently down a long dark road, the curves gently rocking her into a state of semi-paranoia. She slowly rolled all the windows down, letting the wind smack against her face. The road she drove down was empty, and again she realized that only Here could she feel comfortable. Dismiss the thought of a busy city sidewalk; it never existed in her perspective.
Streetlights lined the side of the road, washing the scenery in an awkward orange glow and she glanced at them as the car slid through the air, her hand guiding this machine of speed and power.
Have you ever listened to the chirping and buzzing and whirling of bugs as you drove; if you did you would hear a distortion. The sound would rise then drop as you sped past. This sound ended her trance. She was going too fast; she slowed.
She was driving at two in the morning because she thought well when she drove. She didn’t quite know why: freedom, speed, the feeling of leaving something behind or perhaps the knowledge of moving towards something. She had often seen dogs shoving their heads out of a car window, tongue lolling and rippling in the air, a look of ecstasy on their faces. She thought it might be the same feeling.
“I’m not escaping.” She had a low voice, the kind that felt like melted chocolate. It mixed well with the sound of her car engine and the wind got colder making her nose and cheeks tint red.
Suddenly, she wanted to see another car. A feeling of loneliness seeped into her blood like a virus. Her eyes darted to the end of the road, straining against the darkness, fighting a silent war with a night that refused to present that longed for vision of human existence.
She felt like the only person in the world. She felt like this car was a beast that had kidnapped her from a dark isolated tower, taking her to its lair. She felt like she was about to panic. She closed her eyes.
A loud sound made her eyes open like they were attached to springs. It took seconds to realize that it was the sound of a horn, and that a small red sedan was swerving across the road. The blood rushed to her face and her heart dived into her stomach, her hands sweating on the steering wheel. She gasped and jerked her hands to the right, smashing her car into an embankment.
She could hear nothing but a drum pounding in her ear. She painfully released her death grip on the wheel and let her body fall backward against the seat. She was shaking. She felt lost. She heard yelling. She couldn’t stop shaking.
Her door was wrenched open and a tall man was standing there, outlined in that orange light like God, staring down at her. “I’m so sorry…,” even her voice shook. Hands reached in and pulled her out of the beast, and she was transported away to an empty spot by the road, carpeted in brown dead grass. He laid her there. “You are a terrible driver.” She looked up at him without reply and he stared back at her wondering how much it was going to cost to fix the newly made dent in his car. She was still staring at him. He looked at her again and that was the moment that he fell in love.
“I mean it. Fucking terrible driver. What were you doing?” He pulled off his dirty white shirt, smeared with car grease and grim, and tried to gently clean the blood off her forehead. This seemed to inspire some reaction. She blinked and touched the wound, “am I bleeding?”
He replied with a dry look and flopped down next to her, “You were driving in my lane, my car hit your car, your car swerved and hit that embankment, and I think you broke the window with your head.”
“My head?” She touched it tenderly again.
“Don’t touch it.” She lowered her hand.
He looked sideways at her, and pulled out an overly large cell phone, dented and cracked from rough treatment, “I’ll call an ambulance-.“
“Please don’t,” her voice held a tinge of the panic she had felt earlier that night. The man didn’t notice it, or chose not to care, and put the phone back into his pocket. “I’m not running away.”She said it in a way that made him believe it but his only reply was a dumb, “oh.”
The seconds stretched on feeling like an eternity of sitting, one next to the other, in a comfortable silence, washed in darkness. She was coming out of shock. He was thinking about the implications of falling for a person he didn’t know. She was beginning to notice the stranger next to her, ripped jeans, greasy hands, dark hair, dark eyes, inquisitive look aimed at her. He was watching to see her reaction. She stood.
“My name is Phin.” He stood with her, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Phin. What a strange name. Are you real?”
“What? It’s short for Phinneas.”
“That doesn’t make it less weird. I mean it, are you really real?”
“Really.”
She looked back at her car, then to the car on the other side of the road and put her hand over her eyes. His eyes followed hers, lingering on the red of the car then drifting to the red of her forehead. It was too late to be standing on the side of the road with a woman who was not running away. He thought again about calling an ambulance, then dismissed the thought.
“I think my car still runs. Do you want to go get a cup of coffee and talk this over?
She looked at him and realized that the only thing she could think of to say was, “yes.”

Drunk off water

It wasn't well thought out, to say the least. Anyone who knows me, realizes that my ability to plan ahead is shaky. This makes things difficult when, say, planning for life, or for making tomorrow's lunch ahead of time. Because of this, my life is filled with uncertainty and doubt.
I don't think that this is a trait that can't be counteracted; I just don't know how.
It does make things exciting, though. In one lifetime, in the back of my thoughts, I dress myself up in different costumes, different adult figures that all end up being me. I am to be a published author, a translator, a preschool teacher, a medical coder, travel to New York to work at Bethel, am a minister in a faraway country, marry, have children, adopt children, sell photographs, be rich, be poor, own a house, live in a trailer on a piece of large land, have a fox sanctuary in my backyard, stay with my family, move away, have a farm, find the love of my life, etc.
Spontaneity: My way of life

Persona

The sun was rising above the charcoal roofs in splashes of oranges and purples. Several street lamps hung above the roofs like globes of light, guarding the sleeping children in the houses, making them feel safe. I leaned against the wall, letting the breeze run its fingers through my long strands of chocolate hair. It was going to be a peaceful day.

Every person has more than one side to them: an array of personas, so to speak: Things that we keep hidden from the rest of the world. I am no exception. Some of mine are buried so deeply under a mess of other emotions that I am not even aware of their existence.
However, I have accomplished a feat of wonder and intrigue. Whether it is a good thing or a bad thing you have no right to decide, but listen to my tale weary traveler and you will perhaps find out something about yourself.
Persona: optimism
Traits: Smiles
Stubborn Innocence
Small capacity for deep intellectual conversation if it at all delves into the darker part of human nature
Easily hurt
Silly
Unrealistic


I was vulnerable in this state. Even though it was my natural state, the voices of those smarter than I, the jokes, and the looks began to wear down this rare persona of mine like waves against a tall rock. I did what any self concerned optimist would do: I created a sharper, smarter, wittier, edgier persona that I wear like a mask in order to protect the innocent persona below. The problem? When I try and tear this worldly mask away from me, I find that it sticks. Every time I put it on it becomes harder to take it off. It’s molasses stuck to a silver spoon, hardening, crystallizing. Will I be able to manage the two or will my new persona devour my old.
Curiouser and Curiouser

Movie List/ Epiphany

As with every important life discovery moment, I was driving. The sound of a voice next to me hummed softly as she spoke of the various activities she had done that day, her feelings, her list of exciting news, and I was listening as a dutiful friend should; that was the moment that life decided to tell me something important:
I was done messing around. I was going to take life seriously. Could I become an adult in the span of three seconds?



In other news, here is my list:"Almost 100 Favorite Movies of All Time (I left room for a few more)"

101 Dalmations
A Knight's Tale
All Dogs go to Heaven
Beauty and the Beast
Big Fish
Bourne Series
Bride and Prejudice
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
Catch me if you Can
Cowboy Bebop
Enchanted
Fantastic Mr. Fox
Fight Club
Finding Nemo
Finding Neverland
Fried Green Tomatoes
Fruits Basket
Get Smart
Girl Inturrupted
Gone With the Wind
How to Steal a Million
How to Train Your Dragon
Howl's Moving Castle
Inception
Into the Wild
It Happened One Night
Jane Eyre
Kabluey
Kate and Leopold
Lady and the Tramp
Leatherheads
Life or Something Like It
Little Women
Martian Child
Mary Poppins
Meet Joe Black
Meet the Robinsons
Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day
Miss Potter
Monsters Inc.
Monty Python and the Holy Grail
Mr. Holland's Opus
My Fair Lady
Narnia
North and South
Northhanger Abbey
O Brother Where Art Thou
Oceans 11
Oceans 12
Once
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
Paper Heart
Peter Pan
Pheobe in Wonderland
Pirates of the Carribean series
Ponya
Pride and Prejudice
Ratatouille
Robin Hood (Disney)
Roman Holiday
Saawariya
Searching for Forrester
Seven Pounds
Signs
Singin' In the Rain
Spirit
Spirited Away
Stranger Than Fiction
The Adventures of Milo and Otis
The Brothers Bloom
The Cat Returns
The Darjeeling Limited
The Fall
The Fox and the Girl
The Fox and the Hound
The Jungle Book
The Lion King
The Little Mermaid
The Muppets
The Phantom of the Opera
The Princess Bride
The Pursuit of Happyness
The Sound of Music
The Sting
The Truman Show
The Villiage
The Wizard of Oz
Thumbelina
Titanic
Treasure Planet
Two Brothers
Up
Up in the Air
Where the Wild Things Are
Whispers of the Heart
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
Winnie The Pooh


I'm sure I'm missing some. If you have any suggestions, let me know

Fuel - Ani Difranco

They were digging a new foudation in Manhattan
And they discovered a slave cemetary there
May their souls rest easy
Now that lynching is frowned upon
And we've moved on to the electric chair
And I wonder who's gonna be president, tweedle dum or tweedle dummer?
And who's gonna have the big blockbuster box office this summer?
How about we put up a wall between houses and the highway
And you can go your way, and I can go my may

Except all the radios agree with all the tvs
And all the magazines agree with all the radios
And I keep hearing that same damn song everywhere I go
Maybe I should put a bucket over my head
And a marshmallow in each ear
And stumble around for
Another dumb-numb waiting for another hit song to appear

People used to make records
As in a record of an event
The event of people playing music in a room
Now everything is cross-marketing
Its about sunglasses and shoes
Or guns and drugs
You choose
We got it rehashed
We got it half-assed
We're digging up all the graves
And we're spitting on the past
And you can choose between the colors
Of the lipstick on the whores
Cause we know the difference between
The font of 20% more
And the font of teriakiyi
You tell me
How does it... make you feel?

You tell me
What's ... real?
And they say that alcoholics are always alcoholics
Even when they're as dry as my lips for years
Even when they're stranded on a small desert island
With no place within 2,000 miles to buy beer
And I wonder
Is he different?
Is he different?
Has he changed? what's he about?..
Or is he just a liar with nothing to lie about?

Am I headed for the same brick wall
Is there anything I can do about
Anything at all?
Except go back to that corner in Manhattan
And dig deeper, dig deeper this time
Down beneath the impossible pain of our history
Beneath unknown bones
Beneath the bedrock of the mystery
Beneath the sewage systems and the PATH train
Beneath the cobblestones and the water mains
Beneath the traffic of friendships and street deals
Beneath the screeching of kamikaze cab wheels
Beneath everything I can think of to think about
Beneath it all, beneath all get out
Beneath the good and the kind and the stupid and the cruel
There's a fire just waiting for fuel

Old

Turnip mewed softly then began purring, a small motorboat in the form of a white petite cat. She stretched then slid herself into the lap of a girl. The girl sat cross-legged on a queen sized bed, her laptop precariously set on top of a white feather comforter. Her blue fingernail polish made designs as she tapped slowly on the keyboard. She wore a grungy oversized green t-shirt, glasses, and her hair in a sloppy pony tail. Every once in a while she would pause typing, lean over, and plant a kiss on the forehead of her white cat, who would look up at her and meow plaintively.

For awhile, nothing. She couldn’t get her mind to focus on the task at hand. She was thinking in half sentences, the words barely registering in her head, “I’m not old…” she hummed. She did think she was old. She was twenty one, but sometimes age has nothing to do with it.

She wanted to create a successful blog, but she was out of practice. The book she had been writing sat half written shoved inside her bookshelves between two empty notebooks. That meant that she had writer’s block. This blog might be good for her. This blog could also be a horrible idea.

Her right leg was beginning to fall asleep and the house was silent. She wiggled her toes only slightly concerned. “I wonder what makes a blog successful. Plot, maybe. Insightful reasoning could help. A goal of some sort is also a must along with interesting characters.” Her blog had none of those things, yet. In fact, her blog was currently being written in the third person. Maybe she should just give up before someone actually reads it “I have to keep going now. This is good for me. I just need to keep telling myself that. What else would I be doing, anyway?”
She sighed lightly and stretched her neck from side to side. Her fingers drifted from the keys and she moved her mouse to the bottom toolbar and clicked the small blue box that said Facebook. Still, nobody was on. She clicked on the homepage link. Nothing had been updated. She frowned then clicked back onto the Word document and began typing again.

She liked the sound of the keys being pressed with a purpose. It was a rhythm, music. It was the sound of progress. She glanced at the clock. 1:15. She should be sleeping. She liked to be sleeping by 10:30. She was old.

Nighttime Drive

Imagine: a dark, starry night. I drove silently down a long dark road, the curves gently rocking me into a state of semi-paranoia. I slowly rolled all the windows down and the wind smacked into my face. The road I drove was empty, and again I realized that only Here could I feel comfortable. Dismiss the thought of a busy city sidewalk; it never existed in my perspective. Streetlights lined the side of the road, washing the scenery in an awkward orange glow and I glanced at them as the car slid through the air, my hand guiding this machine of speed and power. Have you ever listened to the chirping and buzzing and whirling of bugs as you drove; if you did you would hear a distortion. The sound would rise then drop as you sped past, the sound distracting me from my trance. I was going too fast; I slowed.
I think well when I drive. I don’t know why; control of something, freedom, speed, the feeling of leaving something behind or perhaps the knowledge of moving towards something. I have often seen dogs shoving their faces out of a car window, tongue lolling and rippling in the air, a look of ecstasy on their faces. I think it’s the same feeling.
Last night I felt something different. I was peaceful, but I was lonely.