Pitter-pat, the angel on my shoulder is haunting me tonight.

The story of today.

I sat at this desk two hours ago to write a two-page response paper on one of my favorite poems (I know that doesn't narrow it down) and I have succeeded at just now reaching my third paragraph. I have also accomplished an empty glass of Pepsi as well as the disappearance of two cookies and a mug of cappuccino along with a change in wardrobe and the addition of socks on my feet. I wish I could impress you more by saying I did it all without leaving my chair.

It has been fifteen minutes and I have finished the paper.

If only I could have also finished the cleaning of my room, a trip to the gym, a shower, the cleaning of my bathroom, the washing/vacuuming of my car, the filling of gas in my car, my Gryffindor scarf, my book for Nonfiction Writing, all my reading assignments, my six-page seminar paper, my personality profile of JK Rowling, and the basic decluttering of all aspects of my life.

In my dream I am waiting to board a train from Greece to Prague with a blue suitcase that doesn't have any stickers on it because that's tacky. I meet someone who interests me and we begin a conversation with coffee. We are so enthralled with each other that we miss our train. We therefore decide to travel with no map and make up our own, and I have found my best friend.

In my dream I have an accent and I always wear a scarf from Pakistan. In my dream I am someone who has learned to appreciate the fact that life should be sticky and adventurous instead of plastic and ordinary. In my dream I can love people as they need and not as they deserve. Because in my dream I am my definition of perfect.

This is the mess of where dreams cross with reality. And truly, I don't believe that is ever supposed to happen. Because dreams are not meant to be reality. Even when they do, supposedly become so, it is never as we dreamed. It is either better or worse, but never the same. And if we could spend our time loving what is given, perhaps we could let our dreams be just what they are and nothing more.

I do believe in dreaming. I believe in dreaming big. But I also believe in living small. And I believe that dreams are gifts. But I also believe that small things are gifts. A dream may come true, but we must be sure to know the difference between what is now dream and what is now reality and quit comparing. Make sense? I hope so because I surely don't understand it.

Also, feast your eyes on this --

This is what happens when one searches "feet" on Google images.

I miss you, my farewell friend

I logged into Myspace this morning, which is something I haven't done in a long time. I found on my profile a picture collage that I forgot was there. As I stared at each one that went by, I found myself once again missing something: my past, or more specifically, my senior year into my freshman year. And then I'm wowed when I remember that I'm a junior. And even that title is about to run out with only 19 days of school left.

I saw the smiles of myself and all those around me. I seemed happy then. Content. Now, I certainly didn't feel that way at the time. If I were to stare long enough I would remember that I was sick in that picture. I was worrying about a test in that one. And in that one I was very mad at my sister. If I stared long enough to remember the circumstances. But most of the time, all I see is happy. And most of the time, that's all I remember.

The thing is, I used to always do this. Look back. Look back and miss. The natural answer is, of course, "well time goes by fast, better soak it all up, live and love in the present, don't think ahead too much, don't miss what's in front of you." Yes, yes, all true. But I used to always do this. And I haven't in a long time. I haven't in a long time really contemplated and pondered my past and the people I knew and what I gained at that time and why it's important to me now. Am I moving too fast? I can argue that I'm not. I have thoroughly enjoyed every age and season of my life so far, and I think the fact that I have such fond and vivid memories of those ages proves it. But why is there still that feeling of loss?

I know that people come into our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime, but is the ache of missing those people and times supposed to be there? Is that how we're supposed to remember them? Is that ache the proof we're left with to show us that it really did happen and we really did know them? I always wonder. I wonder if when I get to heaven all these questions will be answered. That would be nice.

Questions are good. I fully support them. But I really just want to soak up the sun in my skin and the laughter in my ears and the flowers in my nose and the blue sky in my eyes, and coffee on my tongue. I want to absorb you, all my friends, and let you love me. Freedom. No hiding.

Ever had the feeling you misplaced something you don't have?

Excuse me,
Beg your pardon,
I was wondering if he went that way
Did you see him?
Did he pass you?
You see, I've lost my lover today.

I left him baking cookies
I had entrusted to him my special spoon
But then I had returned to him
And he had left the room

He did not leave me any note
Or any clues or crumbs
To find where he had disappeared to
So on this search I have come

Describe him?
Tell you about him?
Oh that's quite easy, let me think.
He's... got a nose
And... and two eyeballs
...I think.

Maybe beffuddlement does become me.

I reach and I reach
But my arms are never long enough
I stand high on my toes
By my balance is never proportioned
I run and I run
And I'm still on this dirt road

When will I see the buildings?
When will I seen the people?
Trees and flowers are lovely
Birds and clouds are pretty
But my eyes long for a change in scenery

Mountains don't grow where I'm from
Planes are only a distant imagination
The only things I see that scrape the sky
Are the birds that flap their formation

I dream and I dream
But I'm still rolling in my bed asleep
I wish and I wish
But my goals are no further away from words on a page
I run and I run
And I'm still on this dirt road.

i've still never had creme brulee.

But every time I watch Amelie, I sure wish I had some. The Honey Trees are singing to me right now. I have successfully completed one page of each of the 4-page papers I have due next week. One for Wednesday and one for Thursday. I have successfully completed the three page rough draft I have due for Monday, and I've yet to study for either of my tests on Monday. Although I did make my study guides for those tests. I just have yet to look at them . . . .

No worries though. I am exactly where I planned to be. And that rarely happens.

Right now I'd just like to curl up in my grandma's afghan and knit my scarf while drinking my tea and watching . . . well I don't know exactly . . . I guess Amelie or having someone read to me. Perhaps something from H.D. or the book I'm trying to get through right now that doesn't pertain to college, The Elegance of the Hedgehog. Marvelous book. It makes me feel smart, and I'd really love to just finish it though I still have about a third of it left.

I miss those January days where I'd curl up in my dorm room and read Harry Potter and feel no guilt whatsoever about not doing homework because none of my books had arrived yet. So long ago . . . last year.

Also, I decided tonight . . . or like two minutes ago . . . that I want to be that person that no one really knows but recognizes. That person with a title because I have one distinguishing feature. I don't know. Like "that girl with the red tights" or "that chick with the moon boots" or "that lady who always wears plaid." I just think that would be cool for a little while. Or something. So one day in the future I will move to a new city far away and buy myself some red tights and wear them every day for a month. Okay, I'll buy several pairs and wash them.