March 8th, 2004

I don't remember what day I started this. But today is Monday. It's warm outside and my feet are sandled and unsandled. Grass under my skin, cool air, through my hair. And I'm happy. Probably and most likely the happiest I've been in a long time. Free from cold air and ice, free from curly-haired guys. Figures though, doesn't it? Karma or a good omen. But who knows? And I don't care right now. Just happy to be happy. J.P. can write pages of thoughts. But his heart is freshly broken, and mine is beginning to mend. Back to old journals and here again. I can write, I can. I've read it myself and I feel it all again. It's good to have this, it's good to know. "But what's good in knowing the day you'll die?". Except perhaps to live your last day. I live everyday, and I almost said I die every night. But I don't. I live in my dreams. So that I'm ready for tomorrow. And I'm ready now. For whatever may be the next step, not the last step. Just the next to prepare me for the next. And then, perhaps, more. Jorge, asleep and snoring. Ray contemplating geography, pencil, paper, and book. J.P. no where to be found in a sea of books and whispers. And me. Where am I? Here and there, but nowhere. Oh. There I am.