magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

no headache, but i still felt kinda sick this morning. and for most of the day, really. ate some corn chips instead of going for brunch. spent a good part of the day lying down.

worked in the library from 5-7. still felt kinda bad, but getting out of my room was good. stopped briefly at the met afterwards (there was a house meeting at 715.) the tofu stir-fry was actually good, although it may have just been that it was the only thing i had really eaten all day, and i needed food.

came back to a message on my machine from alex.h. molly was cooking dinner for yuka's ongoing birthday, and everyone was getting together around 630. an hour before i got the message. so i flipped through the new and much delayed mixed media which finally contains some of my work, the poem and cd reviews that i wrote a million years ago, and then headed over to dunnel.

spent the evening just hanging out. until about 130. at one point i mentioned something about my journal, and jen said that she'd have to read it (mischievous gleam in her eye). and it's not like i'm hiding all the stuff that i say online. but as far as i know, no one at risd reads my journal (although i have given a few people the address), and i think it might change interpersonal dynamics if people knew more of what i was thinking.

then again, that could be a good thing. there are always a lot of things i want to say that are just easier to say into the ether than in person. the drawback, of course, being that they end up very one-sided. i've occasionally managed to provoke a response with my journal, but most of the time i have no idea what sort of thoughts are going on on the other end.

and then there's the fact that a lot of what i'm actually thinking makes me feel as if i'm reliving high school all over again. and that's a little embarrassing. like dinner last night: "i was trying to write some poetry." "is it about me?" what am i s'posed to say?

and tonight, rather than reading the poem i wrote in the library on saturday, i tried to write more:

my world is a field of blue, fading
to black at the edges, pockets of orange--
people in elliptical orbits,
traveling their own
paths, little gravities between them,
bits of warmth pulled off one,
spiraling into others, eddies forming.

from a distance: fireflies
dancing in the dusk; and then awareness drawn
into my own sphere, orange
and sparkles
and a pulse.

that's just raw. if i keep it, the line breaks will likely change considerably.