My oldest brother, whom I adore, is a horrible thief! Not in the "steal from a decrepid grandmother" sort of way, more in the, "Borrow stuff from baby sister and never return it" way. Of course, I'm the idiot who keeps loaning him stuff but that's in my "I want to share such great stuff!" excitement. Then there are things that I ban him from taking that he Shanghi's anyway, as in the case of one of my Ella Fitzgerald CD's! Recently, however, I have been able to exact some vengence in this arena. Due to unfortunate circumstances, he has had to leave the majority of his CD collection at my house. Alas, I have only been able to reclaim one of the lost ones. Portishead "Dummy". My Smiths "Singles" is still missing. He has the case, but the CD itself is lost, probably to the Land of the Left Sock. But my Portishead disc, that was a fabulous re-find. To listen to "Sourtimes" and "Glory Box" is like visiting an old friend. Aaahhhh! Good times, good times! Now, if only I could find that Ella CD... hmmmm...

I'm too tired to write but I desperately want to, so I will waste space and time with piffle. I'm constantly tired as of late and wonder if I shall ever not be tired again. I wake up, exhausted. It somehow doesn't seem right that after 7 hours of sleep, I'm still so damnedably tired. And I wonder, does dwelling on being tired make a person more tired... I will stop wasting everyone's time with this atrocious dribble. Wherever you are, my wish is that are well rested!

That is fast becoming my title. I used to be such pathetic Romantic, in love with the idea and the ideal of Love. Now, I find myself becoming very jaded but I do still believe in it, just not with the rampant stupidity that graced my former years. Now, when I hear the heroine say things like, "I'm ready for a Romantic Love!" I find myself wanting to scream, "And it won't last, you stupid Cow!" I watch movies like "My Best Friend's Wedding" and think that they should make a sequel, "My Best Friend's Divorce" with the same cast and characters. There must be something wrong with me. Damn Disney and those stupid fairy tales!

Sometimes, Yoda's words to Luke reverbate in my head..."He always looked away to the future. Never his mind on where he was (punctuated by jabs with his walking stick), What he was doing!" It was an admonition that seemed scarily apropos to me! Friday, as I was buying stuff for my new apartment that I don't yet have (again looking towards the future, but this time only a couple of months!), I realized that my future is now. It might seem crazy,and so damnedably cliched, but true. That moment that I have been buying for, saving for, wishing for, waiting for, has arrived and it felt really, really good. My future has arrived. Now, I just have to live every moment like that, like my future has just arrived because let's face it, every moment IS like that! So what am I waiting for?

Cowardice is my curse. And it's something that developed over time because once upon a time, I used to be brave. I try to pinpoint when precisely this cowardice took such an encompassing hold of me and I can't. Sometime in college. And it isn't as though I had some huge rejection in college that occurred. Perhaps it isn't just one thing, one devastating event. Perhaps it's just the everyday that has had such an effect.

I fight and rail against this. And in many aspects of my life, this is getting much, much better. I'm finally going to be getting my own place, in the autumn. I'm living my own life. But when it comes to men, I just can't put myself out there. That fear of being shot down stops me cold and nothing can make me budge. And I detest it but it's so safe and comfy and warm to be alone, by myself. But it's that "lone" part that really sticks out. And it makes so damn hard to get a great date to a wedding! ARGH! Some how, some way, I will find courage in this arena.

I am not a particular fan of change. Some people embrace it whole heartedly, love it... I am not one of those. I'm getting better about because I accept that it is necessary- without change we stagnate and die- if not literally, definitely figuratively.

There is so much change going on now and I'm doing fine with it. What I'm having a hard time with is change in my church. That has always been very, very difficult for me. I'm a cradle Episcopalian, a fact of which I am very proud. My entire life, I have belonged to St. Paul's Cathedral, a church that has been located at the corner of Church, Pearl, and Main since 1817. (Not the present building, of course, but that's for another time, perhaps.) We have always tried to be inclusive and not conservative. Dean Smith, who was Dean when I was a child, was very supportive of the ordination of women. We have accepted and welcome openly gay men and women, refugees from Africa, single parents, former Roman Catholics, former Methodists, former whatever other denominations you can think of. We have tried to be in the public face with concerts, our amazing choirs, public leadership, what have you and now we are place that is being ripped apart. Things are changing and they need to change but that doesn't make it any easier.

By act of our Vestry, our Dean, Dean Farabee is leaving, is gone. His bitterness today, although warranted to some extent, was completely inappropriate. Good friends of mine are leaving because he is gone. And I, like many of my parish, are conflicted. I, personally, adore Allen. He is a great man. And like many great men, he has great flaws that could not be surmounted. We are in a place of turmoil and I know that it will work out but it's so scary. With everything being as crazy as it is in the world, one looks to his or her church as a place of continuity and stability. That is not mine right now. The structure is sound. I only hope that it remains so and rash words and decisions will not make people rue the day. Through it all, St. Paul's will remain the Sandstone, Gothic revival structure that it is. Thank God for some continuity in these troubling times, here and abroad

For those of you who dream of becoming one of the X-Men, I know I do, I just read an article that is about this little boy in Germany who has a genetic mutation that causes him to develop more muscle mass. As a result, he's freakishly strong for his age. See, there's hope afterall!

"Once a dream did weave a shade o'er my angel guarded bed..." William Blake.

It's a line from a poem, long ago forgotten by me, and yet that line stays, forever etched in my conciousness. Parts of that poem still reverberate, fragmented, split apart by too much other stuff and nonsense. I can't put it all together to make it whole. But that line forever stays fresh. Most likely because to me, that is such a beautiful sentiment. "Once a dream did weave a shade o'er my angel guarded bed." May all our beds be guarded by angels.

There's something so wonderful about childlike joy. It's an obvious thing, I know, but it is so rare that I actually get to give into it anymore. When I worked as a tutor for Americorps, I could give into it more regularly. You can when your work day consists of working with Kindergarteners through fifth graders. Today, actually right now, I'm in the midsts of a rubberband shoot out with my co-workers 10 yearold son. It's bring your child to work day so she brought her son. We're in a detante right now because there is a customer in the building. As soon as that person is gone, however, it is ON! Wherever you are today, see if you can do something similar.

I have a funny little habit at my job, actually at both jobs. When someone hands me their license, I look at their birthdate and mentally note what astrological sign they are and if they have a birthday that is the same as anyone I know. The man I just waited on, for example, is a Cancer with the same birthdate as my uncle. I do this all of the time. I suppose it's just me and my useless information thing kicking in again. Does anyone else do this?