Trees are changing.
Lives are changing.
continual,
ongoing,
never-ending,
enchanting,
must stop fighting
the
inevitability.

Such a fit of temper had to be seen to be believed, especially for such a mild mannered lady. No one knew what started it, how it began, but there it was, none the less. A feeling of pure rage welled up and before anyone knew what happened, the vase filled with fake flowers went flying across the room, shattering into a thousand pieces. She began to kick and scream and rant and rave and flail. The myriad of things that were dashed against the grey tile floor- stamp pads,coins, papers, pens, a glass of water. Papers and posters and postings were ripped down from the wall with much ferocity. No one knew what to do for it was so unexpected, especially from *Her*. And as quickly as it began it was over. There she sat on the grey carpet in a crumpled, defeated form, all fight gone, the storm subsided. More herself than she was, but never the same. She who has always been so safe, so predictable, was never to be looked at the same. No one ever knew what caused it. No one ever knew that the breaking point was something as simple as having her e-mail access removed. The grey, soulless place had taken away the final thing that had given her hope- the possibility of hearing from him.

I am one of the most tightly wound people I know. That being said, I am also one of the most impulsive people. I find it very hard to say no to what I think I want so that I actually give in to myself when I see, hear, feel something that I think I need because I can't get what I really want or need. I don't know what that is but I feel like it's just out of my grasp. Perhaps that elusive feeling will always be there, that supreme feeling of discontent. I am not a simple creature. Someone I know would negate that statement just because I made it, but he hasn't figured me out yet. I'm very tense, always tense. I'm so upright in manner, I know I must seem very Victorian. Time for a cartwheel, perhaps. Sorry, I must go. Adieu

AARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

She screams dramatically into Cyber Space, as there is nothing else that can be done.

I have a love affair with books. I also have a hate affair with books. I hate books where I can see so much of myself and my emotions splayed across the pages. There was one book that dreadfully broke my heart. I was still raw, you see, from an old wound, and I saw so much of myself in the heroine that it seemed as though all of my hopes and dreams were wound up in this character. By the end of the book, I was haunted by the injustice of it all, literally in tears and avoiding sleep. One stupid novel had ripped open my poor brutalized heart and the ache was more than I could bear. I couldn't sleep for I knew what would be waiting for me and that was more than I could bear. Today's book, a book I had to read for my English lit class, was not the tragedy of that last tale. It ended happily, as I believe all tales should end because life is brutal enough. Books are to be an escape away from all of that. At least, in my view. I found myself dangerously close to tears, although truth be told, I have been dangerously close to tears all day brought on by the memory of Sept. 11, 2001, the tragedy of New Orleans, the beauty of a baby girl being christened this morning- all things that had me tearing up. I suspect hormones has something to do with it as well. But for those books- that, I believe is unrelated, and now I am left feeling distinctly unsatisfied, which is a feeling that I generally try my hardest to keep at bay, but it's always hovering in the background, waiting illicitly for my weaker moments. Lately, those seem to be getting closer and closer. I don't like that at all. Maudlin thoughts surround me. I have to go. School works beckon to me.