They no longer sell ginger chews at Summit Canyon. So I decided I would figure out how to make my own and looked for recipes. Do recipes for anything as simple as chewy ginger candies exist? No, of course not. I found enough crystallized ginger to... feed a lot of people who wanted crystallized ginger, actually, but no recipes. Then, in the depths of my despair, I stumble onto the site that SELLS THEM. Ah, for the lacking of a credit card. And, I'm also beginning to think, of a life.
I guess that isn't true. I've been writing more in the red-leather-bound diary that my dad gave me for my birthday, because... I'm not sure. Because it's private, maybe, because it's pretty, because it's there in my room when I think of it. It's a bit unnerving not knowing who reads this - I know the new york friends don't, anymore, I think Cesca and Basia do, sometimes, I don't know about Jessica. I never gave the URL to my OPRF-chicago friends, and I don't know if Jus 'n them read it or not. So that kind of rules out writing about Heather, who belongs to their set, and ordinarily I would write about Wednesday. Instead I just haven't been writing.
So now... Sunday. Sunday in the computer lab, writing the same damn psychology paper. Or, rather, not-writing the same damn psychology paper. Rehearsal in three hours. Weekends aren't as bad as I make them out to be. For one thing, I don't have classes. Yesterday was nice. I slept late, did yoga, took a long shower, walked to City Market and bought boxes of valentines - motorcycles and scooby-doo. I don't think there are sixty people to whom I want to give valentines, but I had to buy the motorcycle ones on principle if nothing else, and the scooby ones were cute. I went looking for Ces but only the cats were at home. Shannon Meyer gave me a ride back to the dorm and I ended up babysitting for their son while they went to the film festival in the barn. I hadn't ever babysat for him when he was awake before, and I never realized what a sweet kid he is. He was a little sick, or so said his mom, and really tired, so all we did was snuggle and watch movies about trains and animals for forty-five minutes and then I read him a couple of stories and sang him a song and he went to sleep. Sometimes I think about having a family of my own. How that would work. Sitting in the rocking chair with an almost-two year-old falling asleep in my lap, sleepy and trusting, it seems like the easiest, and yet, the scariest thing. All that trust and need, every day, to have somebody that needed me that much. I can understand why my mother couldn't deal with it, and yet I think, someday, maybe I could. People do - lots of people, everywhere. They have children and they do all the things that come with them and they seem to manage okay. Their kids grow up and the whole thing starts over. Me, I can hardly get all my homework done - how I'm ever going to deal with real life is for now a mystery.
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