I think dictionary.com is trying to tell me seomthing.

Word of the Day for Sunday April 21, 2002: dissolute DIS-uh-loot, adjective:, Loose in morals and conduct; marked by indulgence in sensual pleasures or vices.

I close my eyes and I can be sitting on the steps of a tiny church off Via Giubonnari in Rome, I can be leaning over boat rails watching the Amalfi coast glide by. or I can be watching street performers in front of the public library in NYC, or speeding in a green VW beetle through the highways of connecticut. fields of iowa, praries of south dakota. cafe du monde, new orleans. a dense shady park, savannah, georgia. cabins in wisconsin, old friend's bedrooms. it's all in there, and these are the things I savor.

I am a stained glass window and an out of order cash machine.

though I don't want to write cryptically, which is annoying, I feel the need to write in generalities and metaphors. past and present events are starting to melt and sometimes I feel like my days are dreams. if I were to tell you, word for word, how I feel or what I've done, it wouldn't nearly be enough.

Yesterday I went to watch a dog show and all the dogs made me so kiddishly happy. there was a herding demonstration and it was amazing; amazing how the creatures of this planet are instructed through instincts. slow walks over long stretches of grass are good for me.

could I ever really be a city girl?

This rainy morning suits me fine. The grass is brilliant from last night's downpours and when the sky is grey, places seem to take on a different, magical pallor.

Yesterday I discovered that Modest Mouse is good hangover music, and while I am not mal aux cheveux aujourd'hui, it sounds appealing. quiet music, warm beverages, reading in the morning. yesterday I bought David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest, because I've been hearing so much about it lately and I need a big book to tackle. I wish this morning could extend forever, the weather and my mood and just the very spirit of the moment seem to harmonize and comfort me.

what would happen if I took an adventure by myself? I'd pack the car full of good music and summer clothes and watercolors and running shoes, and then return five days later with increased enthusiasm and a few more stories to tell. logistically it doesn't work, I'm not Jack Kerouac. but I'd still like to try.

maybe back to sleep for a bit? I have a lot of catching up to do in more respects than one. The past week has been super but i'm lagging now. Not sinking, mind you, I'm as afloat as I've ever been. I'm just a little behind.

what secrets am I keeping, what secrets am I giving away? and how and why do I choose the people who receive these secrets? sometimes I think it's backwards. sometimes I get scared because I know how I appear when people first meet me, I am nonthreatening and pleasant. but the layers unpeel, and it's something different, and I suspect that the underneath of me might be too much for some people. I can't climb into someone else's head, and that's too bad, because I wish I knew how it felt for other people to feel. I know how it is for me and sometimes I wonder if it really is more intense than average. and there's so much I want from this life, and so many things I would not take consolation for.

I was going to delete most of this, but screw it. just take me with a grain of salt, my head's in a million places these days.

.past.mail.previous.next.