Just pretend this is in a normal font and size. I reserve the right to write elsewhere and copy/paste from undisclosed locations.

Camp is over, three friends came and stayed and are now gone. My resume has been (probably poorly) updated, and I'm looking for jobs in a meandering sort of way, doing little odd jobs for people that need them, chewing on the idea of grad school.

Still doing this weird "online dating" thing, which in large part I find distasteful and dorky, but which I continue to use as a way to get myself the hell out of the house. Thus far nothing goes anywhere, but there have been some interesting emails, some decent movies, and whatever. I am pretty excellent at going on lots of first dates and never really talking to any of these guys again. Usually this is more a function of my apathy/laziness than of any strong negativity. And I mean, I guess that's alright. Still hoping to run across somebody awesome, on there or in real life. Preferably in real life, obviously.


I have a truly terrible case of poison ivy, contracted while I was running siphons out into the backyard during the hurricane in a (thankfully successful) attempt to keep the basement from flooding. Nothing I was doing was helping at all, so yesterday I broke down and went in for a cortisone shot. I think it has helped, but the stuff definitely isn't gone. Time to call in the prescription for prednizone, I guess. I'm tired of being unable to sleep through the night, and waking up scratching the skin off my forearms, fingers, ankle, face, etc. It shouldn't be able to spread once the oil has been washed off, but I swear it's still spreading, six days later. Good times.


I've been working with my neighbor Hartley, helping with storm cleanup while he fixes the roof of a house that was smashed in during the storm. So many long-established trees were blown down, and now are being cut up and loaded into trailers and hauled off for mulch. It's a sad thing. But the wood smells like fall to me, and I've been catching whiffs of fall more and more frequently in recent days. The temperature is dropping just slightly, and the leaves are beginning to fall and accumulate along the side of the road. It's time.

It hasn't been the greatest day of my life.

Beloved, let us love one another--for love is of God, and everyone that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God. He that loveth not, knoweth not God, for God is love.

Be ye kind, one to another; tenderhearted, forgiving one another--even as Christ has forgiven you.









I love Sara. I love Anna. I love organizing bookshelves. I don't love holding a boundary and getting bitched out for it. I do love Sara for taking my phone and deleting hurtful text messages and the phone number from whence they came. She's awesome. I do love the fact that I'll be at Camp soon. I do, I do, I do.

Luckily, you'll probably read the more recent entry before reading this.

What was that I was saying a while ago, about how whatever goes up must come down?

That's a depressing sentiment.

This past weekend was wonderful. It was really, indescribably great, in so many ways. Saturday night I went to bed so happy that I couldn't fall asleep. On the drive home I was just basking in the beauty of the weekend, and working so hard to hold onto it that I didn't take my phone off of airplane mode until Charlottesville.

I had gone in in a terrible mood. I had had an experience with a guy I didn't really know that left me feeling disillusioned and used. Saying that makes it sound much worse than it was--it's not like anything drastic happened. I just met someone who seemed cool until it became apparent that I was only interesting for my looks and for the possibilities I might present as an object. I have never felt so used, and looking back, I think it hurt me more deeply even than I've consciously realized. I am not even really sure that he realized what a jerk he was being (though, of course, he may have been completely aware), but throughout the weekend I needed to almost constantly remind myself to let it go; remind myself that I was in my favorite place in the world, that I was surrounded by friends and love, and that that was what mattered.

This is a song that I had heard, loved, and forgotten. I remembered it, found it, and bought it last night. Woodie Guthrie wrote the words and never put them to music, so after his death, Nora Guthrie (Woodie's daughter) asked Ellis Paul to put the lyrics to music. God's Promise.




(I didn't ever finish this entry--just wrote a bit and abandoned it. Don't remember what else I had in mind to say.)

On being more social.

I gave my phone number to a random guy today. (I mean, not completely random, because he was hitting on me, but random in that I'd never seen him before in my life.) First time ever to give out my number instead of shooting strange men down as gently as possible. I have been telling myself that I should be more open minded for a long time, and also pointing out that no one ever meets new people by refusing to talk to strangers, but my brain still sends up a big, slightly panicky DON'T WANT flag every time anyone I don't know tries to talk to me.  Especially if I get checked out more than one time during said horribly awkward attempt at conversation. So this time I acknowledged the DON'T WANT message and then inwardly heaved a massive sigh and gave this guy my phone number, telling him out loud that I'd be leaving town soon and telling him silently that he better freaking not be a stalker because I really don't feel like changing my phone number. So I guess we'll see how it goes. Probably nowhere good, but at least I tried. I guess.


I mean he isn't even my type. I don't really know what my type is, or if I even actually have one, but if I do I think I can reasonably say that he's not it. For instance, "speaks clearly enough to be consistently understood" would be pretty high up on my list of desirable qualities. I'm just saying.