xans

When everybody is running in the big race
And having a good time
Who am I to cast a shadow
Who am I?
I looked Death in the face last night
I saw him in a mirror
And he simply smiled
He told me not to worry
He told me just to take my time

And if you come to me
And if you touch my hand
I might just slip away
I might just disappear
Who am I?
And if you think I'm worth it
And if you think it's not too late
We might start falling
If we don't try to hard
We might start falling in love

~Onigo Bongo “We close our eyes”

"Living in books is a fairly romantic notion, whether fictional or academic. You're so *dramatic*, Severus, with your dungeon and glares and monochromatic wardrobe and your other endless lines of defense. You're the tragic hero of your own drama. The sooner you acknowledge it's all a form of romanticism, the easier this will be."

So quickly the sky is becoming light. Just over an hour up, but when I finally gave up on the fantasy of sleep it was still dark. Any light was artificial, and too bright. But I couldn't sleep. So I sat and watched the news, and mum handed me her CSI book because, well, I like CSI and she does too. Maybe I will read it today, or maybe I will try to finish Faerie Wars first.
I donated blood on Tuesday, and I wasn't the one who felt nauseus. I find the sight of my blood sort of intriguing, and at the same time, scary. But it's fun to think that maybe there's some vampire out there making Capri Sun of my blood because, well, the pouches of blood make me think it must be so.
We're starting a trend, listing Alan Rickman's nose as an interest. That is,

miyumiyu,

bubblegumkid and I. Miyu was the first. But we're cool like that. But then, just the other night, I randomly titled an entry "I love his hooked beaky nose," and it just went from there.
I need to email Cathy because she wants to stay in touch. I need to email Brit because we want to do something next week. I'll get there. Eventually.
Passing time until I take a shower. Pretty myself up and pass the day restlessly. Chores are done, postcard for Shanny and CDs for Julia off in the mail sometime later today I guess. I worked on them last night.
I'm not sleeping well again. My dreams are vivid, for a while it seemed so real last night. I wake up because I'm too hot, too cold, too uncomfortable. I'm hungry, or thirsty, or my bladder lies and says it's full. I try not to stay up all hours, to keep out of that bad habit. I find myself up earlier and earlier as sleep shies away from me. I have no motivation.
Read, read, read. Lose myself in the words. Forget to write. Forget to speak. Forget about the world. Miss my friends. Fear of the future. It looms. I don't know what to do.
Speak, child.

"It's wonderful to have someone touch you again, isn't it? You don't realize how touch-starved you've become, until someone touches you. Maybe they don't even mean to, maybe they just brush their hand against yours as they pass by, but it's enough to set off the craving. It's enough to make you realize how long it's been since someone has touched you, even in just a casual, friendly way, and how much you want to be touched."

I crave a companion all of my own. No matter. In time.

Fin.