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10:40 a.m. - 02/22/03
listen for the February birds.
This morning, I need something beautiful in the sense I most like the word, and so I've been wrapped in a blanket reading dela entries for awhile now. I think the semi-constant stream of that girl's mix tape has left me with a better awareness of her energy, leading me to crave and also honor it more often. It's another thing I've learned to call on when I need, I guess. You rock, girlling. For the record, once again.

In my news, Wednesday I went to see the doctor as I nearly always do, but drove home a different way as Mom had an errand she needed to complete. The large intersection near the park was overloaded with traffic-al busyness, and so we watched the trees and the buildings play a bit before a woman (possibly) appeared in the sidewalk. Pure white dressed her- almost a tunic over stretch pants and brilliant spherical puffs on her shoes. A matching white baton. She came like the major at the front of a parade which never showed, and she was entirely not bothered by this. The baton swung from her fingers like hair swings in the wind, and her body could move in perfect parallel, so that everyone at the intersection ended up mesmerized and forgot to watch the lights. While we stared, she bounced and marched from the first sidewalk, through a crosswalk to a second, turned to perform for a surprised woman at a bus-stop and waited to cross a second street. Facing her from the parallel sidewalk was a flabbergasted Catholic priest, who, like the rest of us, was unable to take his eyes off her. Eventually she marched across the street as well, dancing and twirling and generally redefining the way muscles are used, aware that every eye in a half-mile radius was on her. The light changed, I tried to grab a glance of her (which is when the "possibly" took place) and we went off in the other direction. I was floored, generally. I wanted very badly to go up and talk to her, and would have had my mother stop the car, if I hadn't felt also, a very strong need not to interrupt.

I think, after all, that all the communication she intended took place as we waited for the lights to change. And damn, it was enough to make my week...Those things don't happen in the "city" I call home*. A rara avis, this one.

And I said days ago that I wanted to talk about the dream, but now it seems so minor and so lost in me. In green grassy space, a hundred or so white chairs, and a yellow school bus waiting to pick up the students who inhabited them. A health teacher, possibly the one I had my sophomore year, and the assistant principal I had in middle school. Some sort of ceremony, graduation-ish. The students are told to say, individually, an oath which begins "I solemly swear" and then to board the bus. I hear the oath and jump out of my skin, saying, "What? What? Do we really have to say that?" My friends smiles are marked with confusion; they say, "Only if you want to pass." The oath has three points, one of which is sexual abstinence, one of which is not to smoke, and one of which sounds entirely heterosexist and offends me on a level so personal I don't quite understand. I feel pressure building in my gaskets; I say again and again that I *will not say this oath*- until the assistant principal comes over and leads me aside. She wants to know my problem with what must be said, and I tell her that it has nothing to do with whether or not I can live up to the terms. For instance, I'm not saying that I haven't remained abstinent, but I refuse to walk up and solemly swear to that. I feel, for whatever reason, that the ceremony is ludicrous, that girls who in a week will discover they're pregnant (it's Neverland after all) are swearing to remain abstinent, that every non-heterosexual person in the group is being forced to lie in order to pass a class, that I take my oaths more seriously than this, and that I refuse to say words which don't agree with me. We revise the speech to something I can agree with, and I board the bus.

The thing is- it seemed really important at the time.

And the Rogers dream. Just the basic, "I relapsed" (except that instead of having anything to do with food, I was basically paralyzed in the way that I often am in my dreams) and ended up back at what was supposed to be Rogers, even though the only real similarities were the presence of Dave and Stacy. I continued to not do well for the majority of the dream, but all these people tried to help me, and then toward the end, Dave gathered all of them, and made me look at the amount of people pulling for me, and I started to cry. He said something along the lines of, "You had better cry" - which wasn't mean, really, just firm in this way that meant, "See it. Feel it. Damnit, stop this numbing shit." And so I started to get better again, and when I woke up I felt like shit because even though the place wasn't Rogers at all except for the two cameos...it made me miss it like hell. Sometimes I hate dreaming that, as grateful as I am to "go back."

And I'm once again officially too tired to be writing. I think maybe these meds are not working so well.

chord

*arbitrarily, as in "I grew up in its radius"

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