3:41 pm - January 06, 2004
These are my words, that I've never said before, I think I'm doing okay
I feel like it's been a while.

There's a lot going on in in my head right now. Millions of thoughts and daydreams and everything else swimming around.

Sometimes I wonder what to do with my life. I hate when people ask me, "So what are you going to do now that you are graduating soon?" And my response is one that likens to "retire."

Things are ok. Just okay. Not outstanding, fabulous, shitty, crappy, shot-to-all-hell.

I'm not sure if I'm satisfied. I want more, but it's so hard to define what "more" is. And as I think about it, perhaps I am even unsure of that thought- that I do want "more." Maybe I don't.

I want D to understand that I'm changing, "more" and "more" everyday. I want him to see that there is more to life than a small-town with close-minded folks. I want him to know that I love him so much, that at times I am just speechless. I want him to see that this is real.

There are so many wants. I want a house with a garden and the sounds of little feet overhead. I want the noise of children playing and the clicking of keys as I write, for someone, something, that will appreciate my words. I want the sun to set the same pretty colors every night, red and orange and yellow, sitting on the horizon beckoning to me with it's last rays. I want a digital camera to take pictures of my toes and the ends of my hair and every other small thing that makes "me" up: the pile of pillows in the corner of my room, the green and white crocheted blanket on my bed, my purple toothbrush and the dirty mirror on the side of my truck.

I want the words of all the songs in the world to have the same meaning for others as they do to me. I want my dog to not hurt from the three huge lumps that hide underneath her skin and make her breathe raspy and short at night. I want her pain to go away as I watch her sleep on the pillows in the corner of my room. I want to take her running along the river, splashing in the water and laying in the sun, watching it set those magnificent colors. I want people to see me as I am: tall and skinny, long hair, glasses, brown eyes, dancing in the rain and licking snowflakes off my lips in the bitter cold, singing in my car and cooking ravioli with my grandmother. I want to write and write and write until all my troubles and cares fade away.

I want it all.

The question is: can I have it?

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