But I, being poor,
have only my dreams.
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
tread softly,
because you tread on my dreams.

W.B. yeats


and I understand reading a book and understanding where the author was going and getting lost in the explaination of it all. The trouble with translation is one will never really see or get the colors, the raw emotion, the unattainable gnaw of the moment. my sidetracked nature is obvious in evry post, in every word, all in all. i lay awake bothered by the fact it wasnt gotten. the water sure was hot, but you didnt bother to try it. i hate how short of fuse it can be. or turns out to be. by the way, i am a fabulous typist but if you only knew how many times have messed up the words. and so I thought i was going to be uber creative and passionate and it turns out all i am is not the girl behind the curtain. absolute liar, remaining defensless you get by without a flaw. one day i thought i could do what you can do, but hen i recognize what you do is only special because you do it. trying to be like you is a mistake. when will the funds come in and make it work? do i tell you too much? even if i had it at home i wouldnt know what to do with it. this half life i am all of a sudden aware of is scary. no one is more shiny than i am. most souls dont understand the ground i stand on. im shaky from the disbelief. it was typical the woman didnt acknowledge me from church, and i wanted to remind her of it. but i didnt because shes a client and that would have been rude. from my pov thats why folks dont see Jesus in us. thats why. change, change, be on the way.


COME ON HOLIDAY!