Michigan rises from the depths
<< 10:51 p.m. - Monday, Nov. 18, 2002 >>
It�s like being back in Michigan. And it�s creeping me out. The air is sweet like maple syrup and I can smell smoke from a fire. Everything feels close to my skin, tight, - enveloped. I can remember the maple syrup �farm�, back in Michigan, that sickeningly sweet odor, you can almost taste.

The night is dark, the sky vaguely pink. The rain falls on the leaves with a plastic smack. I can feel snow in the air; its illusive presence is all around me. Memories of the past come back. The first six years of my life, so close.

I�m feeling very very quiet. I wish I could lay on the porch and get drenched without feeling cold. Read a book with the patter of rain all around me. The pages get moist and then soaked and fall all around me. As if all I ever knew is becoming undone.

I want to be more. Fill the gap between expectations and actions. They are so far apart. If I could do better, why don�t I? I know I care, why must I make myself not care? I don�t want to become White Paper. Her friends have deserted her and yet she remains unaware. She does not dig into herself. I take pride in poetry, she takes pride in grades and test scores. We both look down at eachother, both feeling inadequate.

And so it remains, until another state of mind comes rolling in. Much like clouds at the Oregon coast.