3:50 p.m. - 08/11/02
and we'll be jolly friends...
So my parents are making me crazy talking about how far I've come in a year and what this fall will mean and what next fall will mean and blah-blah-blah. In another life, I'd be grateful for their support; in this one I'm going, five more hours, five more hours, less than five more hours...
In less than five hours I will have a Julie and a Cami in my grasp. Mwa ha ha. Less than five hours means being in decent hugging proximity for the first time *ever* - means having real true friends over at my house for the first time in nearly a year. Having. Friends. I sound completely pathetic when I say this, but I truly haven't had a short-distance friendship in *so long* that it's going to be absotively beautiful to cuddle those two for two days. There are the typical worries, like how on earth I'm going to keep them rested and fed and so forth (the couch is evil and the bed is small)...but none of the typical-me worries have dared surface. None of the typical-me worries are even willing to poke their little heads out of the shadows cast by my enthusiasm. In less than five hours, I will have successfully managed to kidnap one bouncy!elfling girl and one spiffy!haired (future) world-dominator. Please get the picture. Please don't make me burst out into the happy happy joy joy song.
In less than happy news: my eye is still swollen like a sick pirate's (ok, it's a lot better than it was), I haven't heard from Sara and my worries are turning into outright fears, I have an anxiety disorder, and my room is clean. My room being clean is less than happy because I barely recognize it as my room, and because, like any good mess-maker, I no longer have any idea where my things are. I tried to be logical in my cleaning, but failed to point out to myself that I tend to *not* be logical, and so putting things in logical places, was (paradoxically) illogical. Or not so helpful. Or something.
Anyway, it might be another six years before I find my socks, but cold feet mean little in the wake of such good visitors. Now all I need is that big purple couch and the rest of you kiddles. Or maybe we should wait. Too much excitement might make my heart explode like a pinata. I wouldn't be surprised.
Yesterday, I went to the mall (ah! no! not the mall!) with my parents, and I knew I was in friend-withdrawal because, while standing between shops waiting for my mother, this girl-woman came up to me, touched my shoulder, and said, "I really like your" ('Start A Revolution; Stop Hating Your Body') "t-shirt" and I nearly threw my arms around her neck and kissed her. She had these dancing, gift-like eyes, and she was smiling a mysterious smile, and I was so flabbergasted, I was like, "Oh! erm...thanks! Um..." *skitters off withing finishing the ellipse*
Afterward I wished I'd kept up the conversation, but after-afterward, I liked how little it had been and how much it had meant. See, somewhere like New York is nice because you can wear basically whatever and no one even looks at you, but Oz is nice as well because random girls tap your shoulder and talk to you in Oz. Talk to me. Eeee!
So...if I'm a little hyperactive in my touchy-feeliness tonight, we can blame 11 months solitary confinement and the random!grrrl...
love&pixiestix
chord
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