clementine(s).

i am bruised all along my right side, from my shoulder to my shin. my left side has greener grass growing out of my pores, and laughs uproariously at my failed shoulder rolls.

i have great friends. i am still recovering from this weekend. up 'til six in the ay-em and all the saints didn't care that i didn't drink, they had no mercy and gave me a slight sober hangover. i patched some things up, tore some things down, and abused carl's camera battery with my vanity (i guess my soul belongs on that memory card). i brought home more microwavables and some sweets from my dear mother, and i am guiltily getting away without paying any of my rides back for gas. oh dear.

amongst the spoils of my care package was a bag full of my favorite fruits. my wrists hurt from handling a quarterstaff and my hands smell like zest and are golden from the gloves i was wearing. the disgruntled purveyors of my excellence are regarding me from my windowsill, my desk is messier than back home (most likely due to greater surface area). i have a presentation tomorrow, which includes a short snippet of "godot," and melody needs a man who could love her the way that she is, and i could ask the same for myself. i enjoy a good friendship as much as the next person, and i think in that respect, that i don't have to ask for the aforementioned. because we do care about each other, right? you are still my friend, and i'm cherishing that fact more than any of the similar, previous facts before it, before you.

good. now stop sending telepathic waves from the black box, over the rooftops and through my window from your mind to mine, and concentrate on your lines. though i have no need to tell you that.

-d