7.01.2002

i ventured outside to make copies of dancing ladies and mechanical functions at central library. i found myself digging through the big blue recycle bins to find treasure. i found a crumpled poem with typos and cross outs in ink about love. but it switched quite suddenly into something about the taxman and hemorroids. hmm. a lucky girl could be receiving these words of affection and preparation h.
everything is extra green.
the asphalt is home to many things. a large chunk of watermelon almost fullen eaten to the green and white rind. a puddle of orange flowers excommunicated from their vine clinging to a stop sign.
i wrote a letter to my mother today asking her what she would think about everything that makes me tick or cry or mope. i didn't give it to her. it's under the filename confession in my writing folder. but she'll never get it.