Happy Solstice, world. The holly king begins his reign, the Mother is growing with her child, et cetera et cetera. Hail be to the all-encompassing Is.
Tomorrow, or if we're honest with ourselves, today, begins my infamous biology program. Ah how things change.
I will be in New York this summer. All parties who care (read, Bri, but I don't think she even reads this anymore) take note. Then I will be in Massachussets looking at my very first choice, very very much reach schools. Again. Ah how things change.
I have to write to Lada. Go read Amy/Dharma/whoever she is today. Tell me if you think that the "her" from times long gone refers to me. Not that you would know. But I find it interesting that though we were each other's entire world for a good (actually, a mindbogglingly horrible, but when we were together the horrible was less so) four years, I have never been so much as mentioned in her diary. Perhaps this is selfish and petty of me, but I wonder sometimes if I could have had any less of an impact on her than she had on me, and how four years of inseperability are forgotten in one fell swoop. Not to mention the tremendously scary half-hour spent at the mall with her skull cradled in the palm of my hand as she... did whatever it is that she did that day last summer. I did love her. In many ways I still do - if nothing else I still feel my heart twist in my chest when I read her diary, but I do so anyway out of some odd sense of obligation. I find it odd that though we told each other I love you a hundred times a week, she can still say that the first person to "truely love" her was somebody named Andrew. I suspect that I am the her she won't talk about in the sentence right before that one. I loved her just as 'truely' as my heart knew how. She was the first person I ever independently loved. This is no use - I have to pack.
... design by bri...