"pump-a-kins" in the dark
<< 8:19 p.m. - Wednesday, Oct. 02, 2002 >>
I'm sitting here on a rumbling bus with my bubbled handwriting and wondering about nothing at all. Every Wednesday my entire life story is boiled down to salt; the bitterness in which my life moves on. It�s quite disconcerting. Everything I thought and believed feels all wrong, turned in on itself, and I am left alone like am empty page.

I think about mothers and daughters and the how one shapes the other. I never realized the impact of my mother�s presence on me. I am unlike her in so many ways. I�m an inverse equation of my mother. We teenagers seem so opposed to be in any way like our mothers. For a while we are, but the cycle returns & in the end we�re in someone else�s shoes, not knowing who we really are anymore. Certainly not a mirror image. We hope.

And so on�.

I�m trying to be spontaneous. But the words I want to say get caught in my vain & upright throat. My body tries to digest them and forget about it, but I will not let that happen. I must speak out & form new friendships.

That aside I don�t have much to say. ta ta for now,

Diosa de la luna