Well, I did finish, and I did cry a lot. Oh, so very much. So much, in fact, that I wrapped that book in Saran-Wrap and put it in the freezer because I didn't want to look at it anymore. Jo Rowling, I love you, woman, but honestly-- you could have picked someone else. (Don't get me wrong. I mean, there were worse people you could have picked. Please don't take Ron away from me.)
Yesterday, as a leftover from our trauma unit, I wandered around school with an enormous black eye. It was kind of cute. I've been thinking about applying it from time to time, just to accomplish that adorable tomboy look. (Backward red cap, freckles, and stubby braids included.)
There are several things that I'm thinking about, but I don't know how to put them into words. Mainly how I wish Jory would hurry up and get home, and how I wish Tiffa still just lived up the street, and how Kenzie really should drop by. I'm thinking about how much easier this next term should be, as if the first one was particularly difficult, and I'm thinking that the new pieces I'm scribbling are coming off nicely.
I'm generally content, though I feel very unsettled. I find my forehead frowning in concentration when I'm not doing much of anything at all, find myself frowning in disapproval at the milk carton at breakfast. And in the next moment, Duncan Shiek is whispering in my ear that I'm on a high, and I agree, and I drive with the windows down and make macaroni and cheese in obscene quantities that I can never quite finish off. I've never felt so much like being drawn into myself and discovering myself, but I haven't felt in a long time like sharing a smile with that complete stranger down the hall. This strikes a very odd balance, wherein I am friendly with strangers and schoolmates, but my dearest friends haven't seen my face in ages.
Though if people know me, they generally know that a phone call and a trip to Borders' will pull me out of a funk. There are a few people I know who can do this without even being aware that they are doing it. There are two that I know who are patient and kind and who will tug at my arm until I peek outside. I always come through these little stages somehow, and this one is no different.
P.S. So we go from year to year with secrets we've been keeping... though you say you're not a Templar man. Who are you?
Yesterday, as a leftover from our trauma unit, I wandered around school with an enormous black eye. It was kind of cute. I've been thinking about applying it from time to time, just to accomplish that adorable tomboy look. (Backward red cap, freckles, and stubby braids included.)
There are several things that I'm thinking about, but I don't know how to put them into words. Mainly how I wish Jory would hurry up and get home, and how I wish Tiffa still just lived up the street, and how Kenzie really should drop by. I'm thinking about how much easier this next term should be, as if the first one was particularly difficult, and I'm thinking that the new pieces I'm scribbling are coming off nicely.
I'm generally content, though I feel very unsettled. I find my forehead frowning in concentration when I'm not doing much of anything at all, find myself frowning in disapproval at the milk carton at breakfast. And in the next moment, Duncan Shiek is whispering in my ear that I'm on a high, and I agree, and I drive with the windows down and make macaroni and cheese in obscene quantities that I can never quite finish off. I've never felt so much like being drawn into myself and discovering myself, but I haven't felt in a long time like sharing a smile with that complete stranger down the hall. This strikes a very odd balance, wherein I am friendly with strangers and schoolmates, but my dearest friends haven't seen my face in ages.
Though if people know me, they generally know that a phone call and a trip to Borders' will pull me out of a funk. There are a few people I know who can do this without even being aware that they are doing it. There are two that I know who are patient and kind and who will tug at my arm until I peek outside. I always come through these little stages somehow, and this one is no different.
P.S. So we go from year to year with secrets we've been keeping... though you say you're not a Templar man. Who are you?
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