| in america 3 part 4 - 2003 october-november | work & days: a lifetime journal project |
October 10th I'm so stunned and heartsore. Tom lost his car. It was towed, he owed 14 tickets on it. So now it is gone too. He was here unshaven in strange baggy pants, just beaten. It is as they say all his fault - he didn't pay attention - he didn't do what needed to be done. There he was rapping at the window. I set him up with phone books, the phone, a cup of tea. Afraid he was going to ask to borrow money. He is sliding so fast. Did I do that? No, he was already sliding, that was why I jumped. I feel slammed at the heart. He is going to lose his storage space, the photos, everything. He is going to die of incompetence. - I don't understand why he couldn't build on what he had. He loved the room, he loved his clothes, he loved his car, he loved me in some fashion, he loved his strength and growth at work, and he let all of it melt away. I thought quitting booze would let him build but it's as if his unconscious hates him and sabotages him and tears up everything he tries to give himself. I'm thinking of him crying in his car, crying to be listening to music in his car. I'm thinking of the photos he took of his room. How beautiful he looked in his grey shirt and tie when he was working at the New Palace, looking up from his car with such clean and puzzled sorrow. The way he threw my vow under his bed. The way he took a joint to Washington in his wallet. I was working with Emily's packet today and then went out at 11 for the Auto Trader, had it processed and spread in front of me when he came. Haven't been able to work since. Am I feeling my losses too - my house, my car, my city, my lover, my exquisite dedicated work. My lover. I waited eight years and he did not make it. The only thing Mary said that was personal to me was that she was surprised to see in my letters how in love I was with Roy.
Strauss "Im Abendrot" in Vier letzte Lieder Te Kanawa and the London Symphony conducted by Andrew Davis, CBS 1979 17 Feb 2002: "Tom laughing joyfully. He's happy he's done nothing to sabotage himself, he's happy he's in good faith with me, he's happy he's writing." That sent me to rocking and sobbing. "We have both driven through our limits in this connection and there is now so much joy and coming true that it seems I will have to die. That's fear of happiness." "Pressing Tom to give up dope was a three-year fight. Resolving it has brought him writing back." "The phone rang yesterday late afternoon. I love you, said Tom in a beautiful voice. His heart was full." March 21st.
11 The requiems I own and listen to: Sigur Ros Angels of the universe, Fauré, Somei Satoh Toward the night, Preisner Requiem for my friend, Mozart, Rankins' Fare thee well love, Eva Cassidy altogether, Emmy-Lou Harris Wrecking ball, Willie Nelson Across the borderline. A while back I crossed into a tragic zone and here I live conscious of damage and doing small work to repair. My heart is shaky this morning. It's alright because it's true. Full moon. 12 Am not waking with subtle thoughts. This morning I heard a voice saying, Julian Tremayne, he needed to be jumped twenty-five times. Jump-started it meant. Have the weeks of grey days come to their end - this Sunday morning clean bright and quiet at 8. There is the almost-full moon worn thin above the jutting carcass of the new condo. On the staff picks shelf yesterday I found a book called Justice. Small book, so cleanly written. Larry Watson 1995 Justice Milkweed Editions 14 Yikes - Damasio's Looking for Spinoza so orthodoxly representationalist - I must find someone inside the circle who will get what I'm saying - Paul doesn't, Damasio wouldn't, would Evan Thompson? Would Edelman? I will have to have a male sponsor. [My college] is my form of lens grinding, and I'm effectively exiled, but I do not have a loyal publisher - apart from the web, I guess. Damasio's a pretty popularizer. His back cover blurbs for this book are Sacks, Styron, Kandel, Hubel, Changeux, Peter Brook. The book is slopped together, a stew of metaphor, any metaphor, in a banal gravy of cliché: The cruelty of neurological disease may be a bottomless pit for its victims ... But the scalpel of disease is also responsible for its single redeeming feature: By teasing apart the normal operations of the human brain, often with uncanny precision, neurological disease provides a unique entry into the fortified citadel of the human brain and mind. Reading him on perception I'm so antsy I want to walk away from the table. Antonio Damasio 2003 Looking for Spinoza: joy, sorrow and the feeling brain Harcourt - This day I gathered money - 2000 US on my US Advantage card at Washington Mutual this morning - then wrangling and delay at Financial 21 - down and up the hill on 5th three times - then withdrew 700 from my checking account and 300 from my savings. Then back to Washington Mutual and pulled another 1000 on my TD Green. All $4000 in two piles with elastics around them in an envelope under the files in my middle drawer. A decisive moment at the credit union, going to the teller after Miss Helpless Submanager had been railroading me all day. Miss Helpless was saying "I could phone you later ..." I firmed up like a tortoise - contracted - it is one of the yogic siddhis - and said "I am done talking. I am not doing any more talking today." And then to the teller, a plump small Hispanic girl, "But I am going to talk to you, and I am going to talk nicely, because none of this is your fault." And was shown a picture of her baby, Elizabeth Guadaloupe, ten months old in a fancy white nylon dress being propped for the camera by an invisible hand. Miss Helpless had kept trying to make it someone else's fault - the teller, me, my bank - when it was her ignorance and carelessness at every point. What I liked was the way having put my foot down solid on Miss Helpless I was free to meet the next person with good grace. 15 It is like Mercury retrograde - sequence of hitches - yesterday at the credit union - last night Mary Jeep not answering her phone though we had an appointment - this morning Lise Boyer of the Canada Council saying my application got watered in the mail and must be re-sent. So this morning I don't know whether I am going to Del Mar on the Coaster at 9:50 and it is now 8:35. - Everything is done, for this cycle, and now I don't know what to do with myself - 8 letters sent - Canada Council application re-sent. The $2000 has miraculously come through after I got heavy yesterday, but Mary Jeep has stopped answering her phone. I think that jeep has gone. So now I must wait 'til the new Auto Trader on Friday morning. Wednesday 6 - keep wanting a message - hopefully scratched up Explorer again: No Messages. Alright, look around - There's a sunset, a peach glow, if I could see it, in milky air over the harbour. Three kinds of palm. Meet me at the wreckin' ball, wreckin' ball. Where did I go with my semester loves this packet - [not transcribed] Emmy Lou Harris 1995 Wrecking Ball produced by Daniel Lanois Elektra/Asylum 16 Something invisible is biting me. Every couple of days there's a new bite. The old ones can go on itching for a week if they're touched. The worst would be that Tom has brought me bedbugs, but I don't feel the bites happening at night. I felt one yesterday when I was on my bike. Oh Bread & Cie breakfast - café au lait and three chunks of bread with cream cheese and jam - olive bread, seedy sourdough. Bad pleasure, so good. The bread is fresh, crusts hard. Makes the skin on my face sting. - Looking for the journal passage that talked about using a wall paint with a lot of colors mixed into it, so it can reflect more of what's around it - when I heard it I was just touching into starting to write the way I'd like in Seeing. Frank after his life - I was so buoyant in my teens - was looking for the first Frank journal and read 1961-62 in the 5-year diary, and other bits - sleeping with Rasheed, 1965, sleeping with Frank - happy. Bill Volk's beautiful letters. 17 No Auto Trader though it's Friday. The gate downstairs is stuck. What else made this a poorish day. At times my skin itches as if the bites have sensitized it all over - catalogue computers are down in the library - I am feeling out whether I have energy for Seeing - all the books I pick up on vision are unbearable - they talk about seeing as images formed in the brain and they begin with the sorts of dull personal anecdote publishers think make a work accessible. I keep checking my email hungrily and there's none. Morose downtown feeling the miserable end of my story with Tom. I loved loving. I'm relieved. Now I know what happened. Mid-January 2000, after he took me to the train, he said. What I need to know: did crystal meth help him be with me, the times he was fun and real? Did I have trouble writing because Tom was misleading me? - It looks like Tom's cushions have infected me with bedbugs. 20 I'm feeling something I haven't - it's something like this: now that I know he'll always be an addict, he will never have money, he will never be stable as the man I wanted, he is some clearer than he was but he'll always bullshit, why don't I just accept him and love him and hope for nothing and have an open heart for him and for the self that delighted in times with him - ie why don't I take him back. I'm on the deck in sun already fiery. Why would I do such a thing - because of how satisfying the good times were to me - how deeply pleased I was with them and still am when I read about them - they seem like miracles of adventure, color and fullness. There was a lot of oppositeness and charge. He will use again but he's not using now. It says no, no, no. The alternative seems to me to be to settle for stoic responsibility. How can I - No, it says, every addict feels that. Are there other ways to that pleasure and satisfaction? It says yes but doesn't tell me what they are. The picture I've had propped under a lamp was a picture of a girl in a leather halter, high-heeled cowboy boots, cowboy hat, and tight jeans riding the midriff of a sweaty man with a glass in his hand. She has her arm thrown up like a bronc rider and looks like me when I'm love woman. Alright I needed what I got from him. Getting it from him was also self-abusing. I have done the work to leave my drug but I haven't replaced it with something better. I don't believe there is anything else. I am lacking connection with something in me, it says. - It is a 1995 with 125k, has a CD player and driver's airbag, roofrack. It's very blue. The appraiser considered that I need a new battery, a new rear tire, oil change, transmission fluid change, winder for R front window. With taxes and charges and fixing less than $4000. - Mitch Beeber, Pacific Coast Autos. On the phone I thought he sounded gay. What it was, was New York City Jewish. He sat and spoke Thai and Vietnamese to me on and on. He had a nice firm mouth and is going to Thailand and Vietnam to look for a woman. His ad was odd. I thought from it and his sound that he wouldn't be gouging. Looking at the Backcountry adventures: southern California book this morning I had such a sore heart of loneliness. It's gone now. I open the grain book and remember the fields of happiness there have been in the years since I was thirty - with Jam, talking - in the country, looking - the garden - Louie's company - with Rob in bed - with Tom - breakthroughs with the doc. Some of them I fought to keep and grieved hard, but all of them had to stop and then something else came. It is two in the afternoon. The sun is just touching into the room. Space hotel. Red hibiscus opened full in the London oxide ashtray. Door standing open onto white light on the roof. Palm fronds drifting in small current. Al Gromer Khan 2000 Space hotel New Earth Records 22nd Insurance - needs CA driver's license - needs written test - needs studying the book and sitting for an hour and a half in the DMV - then appointment for driving test. I'm wanting to just cut him off - grey depression settling into sore heart if I attend to it - all the anxiety there has been in the years - all the anguish of uncertainty and disappointment. What's worse, now - I feel worse than I did - betrayed - I feared he'd betray me but I didn't believe he would - is that a distinction - I didn't take care of myself - it is like being shamed - it is being shamed - I loved wrongly - I opened my heart to a user - I lived in faith and hope unknowing - he made a fool of me. I'm anxious to know exactly when he began and whether he was using when I spoke to him on the phone - whether it improved him. I'm bewildered what to do with the beautiful and hopeful times - what must I think of them - And more - if I can only love that way when I am loving a user, what will I do for love - this is the core of it - it's a worry about having to shut down that quality of joy hope and love - (crying, sobbing)
23 Passed the written license exam but failed the vision test - optometrist tomorrow - Wasn't well today, that faint dry-mouthed feeling that wasn't a heart attack. Suffering talking to Louie about Tom - she is sympathetic and not helpful - just hears my anxieties and seems to confirm them. Like yesterday evening, typed a long section of 1999-2000 Dec-April. It's the left-handed man story. I was very slowly writing. There's a bit of weather. A good Louie story, some Joyce stories, three or four. Janeen died. In the Tom stories there are wide jags between bliss and fear, as always was. I don't see anything different if he was using crystal from that time on. He was sometimes very happy. I disregard some of the happy times in my transcription. Am using the string to make decisions about what to skip. The transcription is very absorbing. I forgot that this morning I talked to left-hand man and he said he is mourning loss of energy and structure for action. He wants quickly to come through to improvement in indecision and delay. He wants to write and be famous, likes me better than he did. And so on. I can see I was wasting my time doing with Tom what I could have been doing with him. He wants it. 24 Elated tonight. A few reasons. Got my temp license this morning tho' the test isn't for three weeks. That means I can insure and be legal. The optometrist was small young Dr Phon who called me Professor and was nice. I am buying glasses for driving at night, which deals with a worry I did not like to think about, blur and glare. I spent freely to get the best kind, also got the number I need for buying drugstore glasses to get a lens to paste over my rangefinder, so I'll be able to use my Nikon again. And then drove my jeep to Point Loma and worked alone in Eliz's garden training her wisteria. When she came home, sat with her on the dirty outdoor sofa - me, her, Rue - drinking half a glass of red wine and talking with the energized freedom she has and gives. An email from Michael D, "I didn't feel like I was in school with you. I felt I was just reading, thinking and writing." 25 Nora's front patch - is spectacular - the cassia is in all-over yellow bloom - the blue-black salvia next to it, same height, then the calliandra with pink puffs, then the white buddleia, not in flower, silver all over, meeting the weyeriana over the gate. Purple iris on either end. I had a fine Saturday - reading Rhonda this morning, then jump in the jeep - it is such a high step up - then clip and shape and sweep and leave with a bag full of 13 oranges. Nora came and stood in Taft's back garden for a while. I'm surprised when she starts out guarded, arm over her torso. Why is she guarded with me? I sit on the wall edge so she can stand over me. Then she loosens and we're laughing. A thousand 20x26 granite pavers - can that be right? And a bunch of granite setts. The ocean at the end of the street in milky light - 26 At maybe 5 in the morning I stepped onto the roof, felt the air warm, and smelled ash - flakes of ash on my bra left to dry - flakes of ash falling. The air was warm as if the sun were up, but unevenly, lumpily. Red in the sky behind the cathedral. Bike, out, yes - to Balboa Park - toward the desert sky. It's a Santa Ana. I go to the farthest edge of the park, an irrigation control box beyond the rose garden. The sun rises like a white spotlight on the olives and eucalyptus. I'm free! I said, and sighed. Now I am on the roof and the sun has risen into the layer of smoke, a coral-pink disk. I'm free and I have a jeep and I have a very strong pulse, the optometrist said. - Was that the last time I will ever see Tom? Narrow-shouldered, walking to his dorm at St Vincent de Paul's. He is wearing a moustache, admired the jeep, bossed me without thinking, was offended when I refused. This morning I planted his succulents on the lower slope at Dawne. I went with him to pay his storage fee, $142, in exchange for his Mac. At the window he said, Are you going to pay or are you going to give me the money? I thought - you don't have the money, I won't cooperate in letting you look like you have it. While I was getting the cart and he was slopping with his closet full of stuff, he dropped the plastic bag with two significant pieces of glass - the fruit bowl I said I wanted back if we broke up, and the full moon globe of the brass lamp I gave him the Christmas just before he started down the bad road. Two months from now when he loses everything in that closet I don't want that lamp to be gone. He wanted to go to the beach, he wanted to wax my car. No - you chose to lose everything and I am not going to fill in with what I've taken care of. I was very hard. He was in the passenger seat saying in that case he's saying goodbye. I said, Whatever. It struck me as the first time I'd spoken to him with lack of care, real contempt. This day of fire, the smell of ash. 27 He was back with the rest of the cables and plugs for the Mac. He came in with the usual sell - I think you and I are ..., etc. I said what I have to say, It was over when you took that road, you left me, you betrayed me. He said what's reasonable for him to say, that by his standards he has been nothing but faithful. I said I've understood he's always going to go back to drugs because he prefers them. He'll get clear for a while when he needs to but then he'll go back. I would never be able to be secure and if I cannot be secure I can't be unguarded, etc. He talked and talked. I got out the cards and then he came to - he talked about working with his cards in the TV room at St Vincent's. He thought he'd like to stay there and work, maybe get a counseling credential at City College. That makes sense, I said. Six months. Let's leave it for six months. He said it first and I asked the string as we sat in the weathered chairs in the pina colada light of the pink sun. "You have to work out what you need to do for yourself." "No emails?" "No, or I will start to expect them." It was correct of him to come today, six months is correct, it was a better goodbye. He needs the time, I'm not dead. When he asked if I'd drive him home I said no. He could walk downhill the several miles in his fine boots through ash and thick soft light. He reads, works in the kitchen, goes to the library. He's okay for now. He's gone home to the Catholics this time and it's right. 28 Where am I - skin stinging from the ash in the air. Eyes too. 3rd packets in. David's in pale apricot-tinted light drinking barely warm French roast. News. Papers show people standing next to houses reduced to powder. Didn't sleep well last night. Tom does love me, in the way he understands it. Am I enforcing 6 months because I'm playing out the seven months I was abandoned? Two men meeting in front of the tables - How are you sweetie - hugging. Bored with my students - very. It's 7:20, grey. I came back from digging three cypress trees and after lunch found an email Luke had sent at 1:30 this aft. im sorry to hear about tom. ive been thinking about it daily. im sad too for him, and the loss of his treasures, the small footprints of his passing. family memories. tho perhaps this loss happens first in the heart. i am defensive of you and would put distance between you and potential pain yet i know the value and cost of empathy. i'm sorry. thank you for your feelings. we musnt be shy. its such a waste. i need to keep talking. ive been silent too long. hiding. i still love you. im still in love with you. (tears) i've never wanted to be without you, and i don't now. i've always cared how you feel, and i still do. sometimes i wonder why, but it's who i am. i don't want it to change. what i need to do is move on from that pain. it's not something you can do for me. i've just never wanted to face it, because i was afraid i wouldn't know what to do. or how to survive, if i couldn't heal that part of myself i would cease to exist from that age onward, that my footsteps would become obscured and i would be without a past. would no longer belong anywhere, to anyone, even to my pain. perhaps we can help each other, if i don't yet know how. what you did was wrong, and selfish. im proud that you're a fighter. but sometimes you've claimed to fight for things other than yourself, when really it was only ever about you, and you've hurt me doing it. you've hurt me a lot. it's not tough and smart. it's weak and obvious. and i don't stop loving you. im far from perfect. i forgive you. for both of us. im sharing my weak side in good faith. again. don't dare hurt me. i come from a tribe of fighters. i must teach myself to be my own parent. i've failed badly so far, but i have to keep going. i want a family of my own one day. 30 I answered it last night. i am impressed at how much you could say. it is a hopeful sign. yes keep talking please as much as you can. i have no right to say i love you. the shyness is, i have got used to feeling i have no right to know you, even. it is a stoicism. but i know it's wrong. i do have the right to act love to you if i can. if there is anything i can do. your spirit has always been very beautiful to me. i wanted to do nothing but foster and guard it. instead i endangered it, and i can't undo the harm. i can acknowledge it and feel it, and do. i was wrong and monstrously selfish and i betrayed you. i want you to love me still and forgive me, but if it is better for you to hate and not forgive me i want you to do that. tears too. when my mother betrayed me i was younger and i forgot how to love her. i couldn't stand her to touch me and never thought why. it is better for you that you remember, i think, though it means you have to feel contradictory things quite strongly. not knowing what to do with pain. i wish joyce frazee hadn't died. i wish you could work with her. she was smart and felt everything. you would have liked her. it is so helpful to have someone you trust backing you when you have to go further into pain to get to the other side of it. there must be others like her in vancouver. she was a gestaltist. cease to exist from that age onward - a part of you did, but you are speaking from it now. it seems you do now know how to go on, because you are speaking. you are already a better parent to yourself because you are standing guard carefully while the child in you feels what he does feel and says what he has to say. going with you in brave adventure and expansion beyond the obvious is the right thing for kim to want certainly. that was tom's line: wanna go for broke and kick out the slats? he did not have any sort of clue what it meant but still it was the right thing to want. there will certainly be disappointment if it is to really be a brave adventure. any romance will quickly take you and anyone to your core pain in early love. that pain will be a disappointment, and what will give you strength for disappointments is experience of coming through them thoroughly without taking short cuts. i will just say, booze is a shortcut. hope you know that already. "and now what can i do when the walls crumble, when the glass breaks. who will i be. where will i turn." i know that moment in the crash. the child is breaking apart, is gasping in anguish. yet even in that moment there is someone standing by who is watchful, careful and steady. it is also you. i can see that you are not feeling sorry for yourself or being spiteful. you are processing. your brain is recovering circuits. not smiling so much is okay. you were more defended. if you are strong enough now to do the work, that's better. on sunday i paid tom's storage so he still has his stuff. we will check in in 6 months. maybe he will always go back to some kind of drug whenever he has leveled off for a few years. i'm thinking so. but he is staying in a catholic shelter and maybe he is doing the right thing, going back to the place where it went wrong. yes there was and is a lot of feeling, great fear and pain, and also much hope and joy and fun. he gave a lot though he is a most self-absorbed creature. i learned again and again how to love somebody in generosity not need. by going up a level, was the only way. "these are our ashes." yes. since sunday there have been ashes falling everywhere, and a small pink sun casting pale thick ivory-colored light through the layers of smoke. cars and windows had pink highlights. thank you so, so much for your strength and generosity. - This morning reading through this journal I marveled to see how events sweep through me and wipe out everything I was thinking before. Now can I whip through these packet letters and get back to my own life. Luke's reply, what about it - he was hectoring me - I was feeling something like oh shit now I am going to have claims made on me. He wants me to say I love you. It's tricky - I don't want to need him for reasons of my own, and also it is not my place to need him. I should give in for the first reason and not give in for the second. Another thing is that he's connected to Mary and liked her, and I don't want him to. I absolutely do not want him substituting her for me, and him substituting for me with her, which is very likely because she just wants a warm body. Handsome male so much the better. 'hate' is a word i reserve for cruelty. utter perversion of nature. can you believe it would be better for me? dont say so. if i cannot forgive you, i cannot forgive me. i will say it another way: i think you might have to go through times when in loyalty to yourself you do not forgive me. i experienced that with mary. it was hard to go against my pity for her and it scared me to cut off my own ground, but it was the only way i could take cognizance of and responsibility for the damage done. as long as i was feeling sorry for her, whatever her circumstances were, the damaged part in me could not feel i was on its side. and that had to be the only thing that mattered. i don't know whether it has to be the same for you. i am speaking from what i know. forgiving mary and ed has often been too easy: i forgive them whenever i'm up, ie when i do not feel the harm done. the care in forgiving has to be to not forget the harm done. it is true that when i realize the harm i have done i am more likely to forgive the harm done me, but again, that seems too easy. maybe it is better not to forgive myself the harm i have done, at least until it is in some way undone, by you if not by me. this isn't fear I am talking about, it's moral memory. i do dread being judged and abandoned by you, but that isn't the important thing. the important thing is not getting in the way of what you need to do. you do not have the right NOT to say you love me. its not a right for you or i to grant. i understand it differently. joyce taught me that love is not about feeling or needing or admiring or being attached to, it's about taking responsibility for. saying i love you is too easy. i don't mean from your position, which is different. i mean from mine. most of the time i have heard i love you it has meant take care of me, not i will to foster your spirit. i am thinking of roy, tom, mary, etc, who have been very free with saying what they didn't back. i haven't wanted to do to you what has been done to me. if i act love rather than say it, i don't devalue what is of essence. how is it when we feel creation itself does not love us? it is total despair. i loved you before you were born and have never not loved you since, although i failed you, and love you now, and want you there holding my hand when i die. those are the facts. i believe they must be built into your body, where you can find them even when you are in despair. the guardianship of spirit is a responsibility, and joy, we can share. yes. im not going to give this to my children. yes. you were betrayed too. but you cant hide behind your pain either. lets leave together. i tell you the betrayal stories because i want you to know that i know there is a way through, not because i'm lingering there. show me im worth the risk. if you dont i'll believe im not. got it? to 'act to love' is a decision you must make. i cant make it for you. if you keep giving me the crap that your mother (or father) gave you then your not only failing to help me, you're knowingly working against me. you want to be a fighter, ok. but the fights not with me, its for me. i have my own fights too, but not with you. unless you wont step up. i have taken that risk, i HAVE made that decision, i'm not giving you the crap they gave me, i AM fighting for you, and what am i doing if not stepping up? some of what you are saying is addressed to a me in the past. is there something else i'm not getting? or shes a wily old fox with a nose for her clan and still willing to have faith. i think the latter. definitely a wily old fox with a nose for her clan. i was very impressed. not by her kindness, which i suspected, but by wisdom and compassion that i have never given her credit for. yes mary is very solid. she's very bright. she was weak with ed and her community tho, a pleaser. she doesn't like to know bad things. her weakness cost her dependents a lot, though everybody else loves her. you neednt fear my using alcohol. i saw through it and let it go. addiction isnt in my nature. if this is true i am very glad to hear it, but i don't forget that you come from a tribe of blind drunks, and neither should you. last time i saw you the whack of vodka into the glass was pretty large. i'm coming out of 8 years with an ex-drunk and cyclic druggie, and have read the Big Book cover to cover, and will have an eye on you. its not what we face, but how we face it that will define the sustainability of our love. its wonderfully encouraging. i learned this from you. did you learn it from me with tom? if so it was worth it. you didnt talk to me about school. i am not skeptical. i have always wanted you to have the time and money to study but have to be careful not to confuse you with me. i have never had any doubt that you could do well when you were ready to. i adore your brain, i've always adored your brain. i was intrigued when you said, in parentheses, classics. a business degree doesn't really seem like school to me, but if business is your art then business school could be art school for you, i guess. i know you are built to go Fast. I knew platypus was tough but was happy for you that you could go fast for once. but step-by-step character building, that too. it builds the capacity to go fast without crashing. in my experience. am in a student week, this week. later, 31st I'm insured, I'm legal to drive. 2nd November Ah Tom's music still has my number - since he told about his lies and since I told my anger I'm in love with him again. Is it true? Yes. And is he in love with me again? Yes. And is he okay? Yes. And is the six months a good idea? Yes. And is he going to find his way? Yes.
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