Well, I spent a lot of time and money applying to M.F.A. programs. So far I have been rejected by three of the nine. I am starting to feel like following your dreams is a silly thing to do.

On the other hand, I guess I am happy knowing that I tried. I was so restless wondering "what if." Now I can just wonder "what now?"

And thus I arrive in the real world. Most people approach, take a deep breath, and enter it, but I seem to have stumbled in on it like a person tripping on a doorstep. I never thought I would be one of those people who did not know what to do with her life. I have always know what I wanted to do, and even though I’m reverting to an earlier dream, it is the impractical one, the idealistic, castle-in-the-sky dream of fourth graders with great hopes and well-meaning mentors.

I could live like this, clicking at my laptop and leaning against the man I love while he reads. This is the cosy fantasy I have kept in my heart, and I find it strange that I’ve arrived at my future.

Maybe that was the crack in my glass life. I never saw before that the future is constantly upon us, arriving in wave after wave which we can never hold off until next year or next decade. I could not say yet whether they are foamy, soft, reliable waves or sharp, metallic, daunting waves, or whether they are wholly one or the other. In any case, the battle or bliss is here now, and if I am too busy staring off at the horizon I will find myself washed or hacked away.

I want to tell stories, but which ones, and to whom? Can I plunder Harley’s story about his grandmother who avenged her shot dog by pouring antifreeze into the bowls of her neighbor’s thirteen bulldogs? Should I write Andrew’s life, as it oscillates between the arduous thinking of a boy struggling to fit inside this world and the dark or flashing smokey world of living against the world while you are sixteen or twenty or twenty-four? Should I make up the backdrop of the man who was shot in the back on Lover’s Lane, and is it important to know what another murderer was thinking when he shot my uncle’s brother-in-law at a red light from the car in the next lane? What is there about the world in the way the man drove himself to the police station and turned himself in? What is it about humanity in my uncle in that driver’s seat next to the dead man that he used to know? And does it matter about the woman whose husband was shot trying to recover her from another man’s house in the full-bellied night?

These stories are about guns. These stories are not about gun control or liberty but about passion and despair and hatred and fury and lust for some other kind of world than the hick town we all grew up in where the speed limits are too slow and there are never enough roads out of town.

And so I dropped out of law school because I felt the tug of the real world where justice does not exist in heavy, learned books but in the simple circle that guarantees everyone some shade of a shitty life and death at the end. Perhaps there is some grand final judgment, but in the meantime I cannot qualify myself to decide about the gun or the trigger or the bullet or the dogs or even the sunshine that day and the beer run before an afternoon on the lake. I can watch these things, but I don’t think I will ever know them or what they mean, and so I will sit here and type and scrounge for this day and tomorrow and take my days as they come, not because they are owed to me, but because they are here.

I no longer feel qualified to comment on anything. I am taking a sabbatical. Write me a letter.

Date:	2006-06-29 15:13
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	ecstatic

London, my love, I'm coming back to you!!!


Weeeeee!!!!

Date:	2006-06-20 09:00
Subject:	My Life:
Security:	Public
Mood:	happy

Katy was successfully married off and we were the most fabulous bridesmaids there ever were, in our unmatched green dresses and matching pearl earrings. Andrew asked me to foxtrot, and I danced my heart out with my girl cousins. I also fell down the stairs at my grandma's that day and my wrist still hurts.

Went on a lovely canoe trip with Kevin, Abe, Brandon, Jud, Joseph and his friend Juliet. Brandon was an excellent steerer and the day was warm and sunny and we avoided all three snakes. I love the green corridor of trees and the shadows on the water, and I love gliding down on the water and pulling yourself along with that soft gurgle of paddlestrokes.

Went out on the Mulberry for Kurt's birthday with Kurt, Julie, Andrew, Luke and Zach, Abe, Kevin, David, and Trudy. Rained all week but was still too low to canoe, so we only splashed in the river and kept a sharp eye out for snakes. Until the boys chased one down and the girls removed themselves from the river.

Andrew surprised me one Friday by showing up in Hot Springs, and we cleaned my mothers house while she was in Rome, took my dad to Brau Haus downtown, and went to a fanstastic bowling party with Jud, Emily, Abe, and Allison. My wrist hurt but I still bowled one strike. Only one. Alas.

Trudy and I visited Jen at the winery and got a personal tour. The three of us sang into one of the wine tanks in three part harmony and stood in the cold cathedral ceiling room waiting for our echoes while the sunlight streamed through St. Andrew's cross and a wispy cloud hung like dreams above our heads.

Most of all, Andrew built me a cedar chest for my birthday.

Tomorrow is my last day of undergraduate classes. Next time I walk to class it will be from the elevated height of a snooty law student. Aww.

I have discovered Razz, and I am in love. Again.

Also, today I heard life's theme song: O Fortuna, Carl Orff. It makes my heart pound.

For the first time in my life, I am not quite prepared for summer. I wish it would hold off another month. For all the inconveniences, I've been comfortable here, right where I am.

O Change.

And Erin knew it was time for bed when she tried to wash her face with toothpaste.

Date:	2006-04-19 23:13
Subject:	!!!
Security:	Public
Mood:	happy

Thesis Defense: Passed.

Only bad part of the day: All four professors accosting me on why I'm going to law school instead of an M.F.A. program.

Thanks to my dear friends, I've had a day long party of chocolate, shrimp, Ameretto Sour, and a long distance bottle of wine from mon ami delivered by my favorite cross-dressing friend. The things were spread over the day, not all of them all day. That would be excessive.

So. Shouldn't school be out? I am totally unmotivated about those three papers lurking around next weekend.

Oh, and Mia and I will be living in South Kensington as of July.

Cheers~

Date:	2006-04-17 23:10
Subject:	I have always made too much of my birthday:
Security:	Public
Mood:	amused

July 15---

Events:
1799 - Rosetta Stone is found in the Egyptian village of Rosetta, by French Captain Pierre-François Bouchard.
1815 - Napoléon Bonaparte surrenders from aboard HMS Bellerophon
2005 - Jack Nicklaus plays his last hole of competitive golf during The Open Championship at Hole 18 at St Andrews, finishing with a birdie.

Births (the interesting ones):
1353 - Vladimir the Bold, Russian prince (d. 1410)
1606 - Rembrandt, Dutch artist (d. 1669)
1850 - Mother Cabrini, Italian-born Catholic saint (d. 1917)
1942 - Mil Mascaras, Mexican professional wrestler
1946 - Linda Ronstadt, American singer
1951 - Jesse Ventura, professional wrestler and former Governor of Minnesota
1953 - Jean-Bertrand Aristide, President of Haiti

Deaths:
1274 - Bonaventure, Italian theologian and saint (b. 1221)
1904 - Anton Chekhov, Russian writer (b. 1860)
1997 - Gianni Versace, Italian fashion designer (b. 1946)

Holidays:
Saint Vladimir the Great's day (Eastern Orthodox; Roman Catholic)
Brazil - International Men's Day

Remind me not to go to Brazil for my birthday.

I guess its too hot for many interesting things to happen in the middle of July.

Until me.

Hehe.

Today I have been wondering which is better, to be home grown or technologically refined? I've noticed that I keep choosing the former, in my school, in my boyfriend, often in my friends. I've stuck with the earthy, home made and molded people and places, and I love them for their realness, their beautiful simplicity, their honesty. But I've also been a long while in longing for the expensive, storebought things, like designer shoes, nationally known schools, sleek cities.

Here is what I know: Tomatoes and grapes taste better right off the vine. Handmade quilts are more valuable than factory produced. Does that mean that everything is better when its closer to a human touch? Does that mean that everything is better when its phyisically closer to your heart? Or your home?

Another thing I know: Potpourri smells sweeter than real leaves or real petals. Can contrived things surpass the things they imitate?

Or isn't it true that we all prefer the dirt smell of real leaves anyway?

Date:	2006-04-10 23:58
Subject:	Today I:
Security:	Public
Mood:	bouncy

1. Declined my Fellowship at William and Mary
2. Accepted my Scholarship to UA
3. Finished my thesis
4. Ran a mile
5. Figured out next year's living location/roommates?

I am awfully proud of myself, and awfully proud of my 41 little poems.

Too bad the title I wanted (No Armadillos) doesn't look as pretty as Davis' title (Armadillo). And oh yes, I petted my title creature at the Fort Worth Zoo this weekend. It felt like a turtle.

Also, I saw Phantom of the Opera and bought a floppy hat.

Whew.

Date:	2006-04-05 10:54
Subject:	Wednesday Morning
Security:	Public
Mood:	content

Today I have the morning to clean my room, read, and stare awhile out the window. In Ozark, Andrew is at home helping build two cedar coffins. The day is overcast and quiet. For some reason I feel extremely content just now, as if life were here in these small things, not waiting for me at the end of a degree.

I can imagine the rest of you, at work or in class, busy under the very yellow light of indoors on days like this. So much lately the weekdays have only been the space between my weekends, but as silly as it sounds, I woke up this morning surprised that this is life too.

Last night I went to a poetry reading and I daydreamed about writing forever, indulging in the luxury of school where that is all I'm asked to do. This morning I called the law school and I have an appointment scheduled for very early Friday morning.

I have fallen in love...with Italian Cream Soda with Irish Cream. The relationship can't be good for me, and I should end it...soon. But not today.

My thesis is one or two tweaks from being done. I hope so much that someone likes it.

Date:	2006-03-30 17:15
Subject:	"Oh world, I cannot hold thee close enough."
Security:	Public
Mood:	content

And so March falls piece by piece into its place, and I will soon move on to April, a challenge, but a beautiful, complex picture from the other side.

The other day I went and watched airplanes fly. They spiraled, dove, glided and soared. In the sky they reminded me of a stencil I had a long time ago, and when they turned away I watched for the second when the plane was only a perfect fine line in the clouds. My face sunburned from looking up. I felt a childish joy in my heart for imagination and the human spirit. Perhaps it was hormones, perhaps it was love.

Davis said my thesis is one of the best he's seen. I don't think my face changed very much, but inside I think I sobbed a little with relief.

I am excited about law school. Virginia has brick colonial buildings and Arkansas has these worn hills that I have so fondly nestled into.

And so I have four days with which to think hard about what I want, scribble down the things I've seen, read, read, read everything else.

Tomorrow I am attending a formal, and I will be my own date.

Date:	2006-03-14 20:52
Subject:	"We wish to inform you that tomorrow we will be killed with our families."
Security:	Public
Mood:	sad

The danger of studying political violence is the sterilized neatness of statistics and the overwhelming burden of personalization. No one doubts that knowing is better than not knowing, but do we really help ourselves in slogging through humanity’s dirtiest moments, and do we really help its victims? In the end, all political violence oppresses all people, because inevitably we must each ask ourselves, “What is our guilt?” or, “What of this is my fault?” Somehow, intrinsic in political violence is the suggestion that each of us, as political entities, shares some responsibility in the struggles and failures of others, either through our actions, inactions, ignorance, or complacency. Humanity kills for land, power, and faith, and we are all humanity. Do we all have blood on our hands? Or can we point fingers at murderers, “freedom fighters,” and condemn or absolve them? Is there a line past which is guilt, and up to is innocence? Or is it a fog?

Why do we want to know the sins and suffering of our people? Why do we need to know? Most importantly, have we ever, will we ever learn the lessons we promise ourselves by watching, reading the horror? Or will we simply plant gravestones in our memories, since we have neither the time nor space to plant them in the ground?

Date:	2006-03-13 23:50
Subject:	Scraps
Security:	Public
Mood:	melancholy

My keyboard still works after a bath of Dr. Pepper, and my key has returned to me after a week's vacation. God takes care of me.

I recently enjoyed a lovely weekend which consisted of Hot Springs, Altus, and Fayetteville in just two days. I caught up with my mom, watched the Razorbacks lose by three points, studied CYM at Zachary's confirmation meeting, and went on a date with a boy of whom I am inordinately fond.

My thesis must be finished in three weeks and one day.

"...and it might well happen to most of us dainty people that we were in the thick of the battle of Armageddon without being aware of anything more than the annoyance of a little explosive smoke and struggle on the ground immediately about us." -George Eliot

This week: Rwanda. It's making me cry.

Date:	2006-03-09 16:52
Subject:	A Test:
Security:	Public
Mood:	amused

Brandon says short posts get lots of comments. I have not always found this to be true.

Date:	2006-02-28 00:49
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	excited

I think I will be going back to London.

I am giving up distinction at graduation, giving up my name beside the Greek Theater. I spent all my time in Kimpel anyway, and the people who matter will know that I'm smart.

I hope.

I felt left out.

Davis says I have two poetry modes: crap and amazing. He didn't say it quite like that, but that's what he meant. And the worst part is, I know. I know! I know when I'm dead on and I know when I'm completely off, I just wish I'd stop hoping to get away with the crap and, consequently, stop turning it in.

I need 12 poems and 40 revisions and I'm done!

Yay?

------------------------------

Stupid figure skaters.

------------------------------

Today God presented me with the opportunity to get back to London. It will cost me a chunk of change, but it would fulfill so many daydreams...one last class with Candido, one last Shakespeare class before I give it up for dry legal textbooks, a second chance at Scotland in the summer, and one more month in London.

Because I need to live in London again. As I told Mia, I feel like my life has dwindled into a binary choice: Ivy League/Arkansas? Cut throat career/Soccer mom? Sleek townhouse/10 acres? Dancing and poetry/local theater? Will the one I don't choose be the ghost at my back forever?

If only I could live out that last month, say goodbye properly, and finally tuck London away for these cowfields and chicken farms...

We shall see.

I just wrote six poems, and they're all keep-able!

Thanks, God...