A Reprise

Tomorrow we are going to the Galleria to mingle with Society. I'm so excited. It's been kind of a wasteful night, kind of creative, kind of fun. Now I'm bedding down, anticipating tomorrow: we may go ice skating! Anyway I'm going to read a little Helen Keller before bed. Sent from Amanda's Treo @-'-,--

In no age before or since could one really say "She came and kissed me for the first time and I never knew such delight" and "Teacher and I played romp in bed" without attracting a lot of irrelevant attention. Whatever the case, those two, Anne and Helen, certainly did love one another and while it is well to dream of two Victorian girls in long stockings and chemises thrashing one another with pillows, I am in the cold laboratory again. It has been a very nice evening for me anyway. Tammy brough enchiladas for the day shift revelries and was kind enough to leave them for our enjoyment. They made my dinner and shall make my breakfast also. I have packaged a neat sum of them since there is nothing in the house to eat. Think of how much better I will write tomorrow with a fortifying meal in me! It is cold enough outside that were I in a heated room I would feel very cozy, and crawling into our bed tonight seems a most desirable thing. When I do, the sky will alread...

Read this and see if it doesn't make you a little bit happy. It's my new favorite journal.

I talk about my resolutions for the new year .

I think that if Helen Keller's book does not inspire one to learn again then nothing will. Sent from Amanda's Treo @-'-,--

I love Victoria Holt -- love her! I am reading Menfreya in the Morning now and for a lesser star I would feel ill of encroaching envy, but not for her, never her. She is the light to which I aspire -- hers is the perfect vehicle for fantasy, and I am not ashamed of my adoration. I was so, so right to bring this book to work. It has brightened my spirits considerably. Her style is neatly honed yet descriptive -- with a few words she captures a moment, and I am there -- yet does not dwell tiresomely on any one thing. And her writing, unusual for such an intellectual style, focuses almost entirely on atmosphere and emotions. It is all I could ask. It is hard to have courage to write A Raven for a Lark next month, but I must try, and it is better to have this idol to whom I may aspire, than not the slightest idea of greatness. -- Sent from my Treo

I have settled in and taken the first leisurely shower in ages and weirdly feel like writing not an angsty journal entry, but a genial daily report such as I was won't to do before college. I looked at the clock and it was eight. Then I looked at it again, expecting it to be eleven ... And it was nine, just nine. Time has slowed here -- everything is slower and somehow my evening feels more meaningful. I feel so focused. I wonder if this means I am one of those city people now, looking to the country for zen-like refreshment for a day or so and then scooting off back to my fast-paced life. But no -- it is too much for me to dismiss my feelings so casually. This is more than peace and quiet, this is my crucible and having been wrought into being here I fit back into my old shape naturally -- -- which isn't entirely a good thing. I've come too far to retreat and I fear I am too sharp when I feel threatened. But all of a sudden everything around me seems important. I have very...