October 10th, 2001


(no subject)

I got my very real, very solid, papery, cardboard like booklet of tickets in the mail today.
calmness is what permeates me. Sureness. Calmness. I am clear headed. I'm doin alright, baby. I'm coo. My mom was testing pens the other day to find one that writes well. I found the piece of paper. It says "Linda linda LINDA Linda L Monkey Butt Linda."
On the same piece of paper is a phone number for Steve and a hotmail adress labled "psycho chick." I have to write her today I think. I have been thinking about calling Cheryl. I really want that photo of me and Tom.
It's just a bad little picture. Self photo of me and him laughing on my bed. Camera at arms length so we're way too close and those odd looks while we tried to look normal, knowing the camera was capturing. But he carried it in his wallet. For more than 3 years he carried it in his wallet. And it's bunged up now. The last time I saw it, it had almost no gloss to the surface, the edges were frayed, and the plastic photo thing it was in was sort of stuck to it. But we still smiled in the picture.
It's all I wanted. And I'm sure she knew that. I don't think she ever understood how he could say that he loved her, and mean it, but still leave her sitting in the living room for 3 hours while he giggled on the phone with me, sitting in their closet. I know it made her angry that I was always more than just some other friend to him. And I know it confused her that she couldn't accuse him of any of the typical things because there was nothing else going on there besides this unbreakable connection that meant we were always going to be a very real part of each others lives.
We slept in the same bed. For warmth in the winter.
He drew pictures of me. When he was awake at 3 am again and I'd be passed out in an interesting fall of light.
he always brought home flowers that I put in vases, but were definitely more for him.
And we loved each other completely. So I was thrilled for him when he fell in love.
I suppose it's hard to understand. That's why we never asked anyone to.
And as much as I would love to have that picture, I guess it's better that she hold onto it so maybe looking at it one day, she'll understand.
This has been so very much on my mind lately. The dead guy. Why now... I'm not really sure. I think because he always wanted me to live more. And I'm living more. And , selfish living person that I am, I want him here to smile at me while I live.

I've also decided... and yes, I've said this before... that this is my journal. That means I say whatever I like. And if any of the people reading this decide they've got a problem with what I say... while you are free to comment and hash it out with me, you might want to just take me off that friends list. I'm open to conversation about these things... but not open to criticism. What I say is what I say. It may change quite a bit. But I won't be made to feel like I've done something wrong or that I should censor myself.
That's happened before and it won't happen again.
Now that I feel like a right horrid bitch....

(no subject)

I post my post.
I read my friends list.
I see a post from someone that makes me smile (right on, I say)
and also suprises me because I think I just said the exact same thing under totally different circumstances, for completely different reasons, but almost the same words.

very weird.
ah well.
maybe I'm an unconscious groupie or something.

(no subject)

Buttmint: Will you promise me something?
ZeeVert: okay, I promise you that I will never bomb afghanistan
Buttmint: No............................I know you won't do that, because I confiscated all your bombs...........
Buttmint: .......................don't crash in to any towers on your way to Seattle?
ZeeVert: all my bombs are belong to you?
ZeeVert: heh.. I'll try not to
Buttmint: I mean, seriously.
Buttmint: That would just suck.
Buttmint: Especially if it preempted the Simpsons.
ZeeVert: it's not in my plans and not listed in the itinerary.... no lay over on the way out and one in dallas on the way back... nothing in there at all about firey balls of metal that used to be part of a plane exploding and embedding in a building
ZeeVert: I think they'd mention that
Buttmint: Well, no....................if it was mentioned, people might want a discount.
ZeeVert: bah.. these disingenuous airlines....
ZeeVert: just trying to make a buck
Buttmint: Well, if you see the plane start to make a b-line for a tower, tap the pilot on the shoulder and point out that it's not on the itieniary to be smashed and burnt.
Buttmint: (typos galore)
ZeeVert: I'll do just that
Buttmint: Please.
Buttmint: :::nod::::
Buttmint: If you don't, I'll go back in time, find your location on the plane at the impact, map the trajectory of your ass as it is crushed and burnt in the fiery remains of the airplane, come back to my time, locate your ass by my calculations, and kick it.
Buttmint: ::::nod:::::
ZeeVert: you'll kick my burnt and crushed ass for not alerting the pilot of an unplanned crash into a tower?
Buttmint: ::::nod:::: It would be your fault. It's not like there's anything entertaining on a plane.
ZeeVert: I may have to double check on it, but I think that's the sweetest psychopathic comment I've had all week.