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Friday, April 15th, 2005
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6:58 pm - yay for grailpoints
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King Arthur!
You scored 87 Grail-Points! |
| Holy Smokey the bear! You really do remember the movie. Not only that, but you know some really difficult details. I salut you. Of course, there is a chance that you've seen the movie just before you took this test (hush-hush...don't tell, but me too ;) ). Anyway, if someone is to find the Holy Grail, you'll probably at leat be in the search team! |
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My test tracked 1 variable How you compared to other people your age and gender:
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You scored higher than 45% on Grail-Points |
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11:21 am - okay... I suppose I can see that...
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Plato
You scored 38 realism, 66 rationalism, 16 materialism, and 33 atomism! |
| Your philosopher is Plato (c. 427 BC – c. 347 BC), an immensely influential classical Greek philosopher, student of Socrates, teacher of Aristotle, writer, and founder of the Academy in Athens. You divide the world into two distinct aspects: the intelligible world of "forms" and the perceptual world we see around us. You see the perceptual world, and the things in it, as imperfect copies of the intelligible forms or ideas. These forms are unchangeable and perfect, and are only comprehensible by the use of the intellect or understanding. The ultimate idealist, you believe in the virtue of humanity, the purity of music, the essence of morality. |
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My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
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You scored higher than 18% on realism |
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You scored higher than 89% on rationalism |
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You scored higher than 2% on materialism |
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You scored higher than 14% on atomism |
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| Thursday, April 14th, 2005
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5:23 pm
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Christina's coming. Brad's coming. Tara. Annette. The Bockmans. It's amusing how, next to my family, the highest rate of "yes" RSVP's come from the category "people I knew on another continent."
More than anything, I'm looking forward to that day because Liam and I will become husband and wife. I mean that most sincerely.
It doesn't hurt, though, that some really kick-ass folks are coming...
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4:20 pm - Sally? I'm SALLY?
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Sally
Wishy-Washy: 56%, Mental: 71%, Physical: 50% |
| Sally is Charlie Brown's little sister and has an unrequited love for Linus. Alternately amazed and terrified by the world of school, she gets by on pure stubbornness. If you're feeling a little down about life, remember you can always talk to the school wall. |
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My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
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You scored higher than 69% on wishywashystuff |
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You scored higher than 91% on brainstuff |
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You scored higher than 87% on physicalstuff |
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| Tuesday, April 12th, 2005
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4:34 pm - 46 days
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I'm getting restless. 46 days until I get married... 30 until I'm done at HC (for all practical purposes, still have a few credits to attend to).
My experience of time has become hyper-sensitive. Every hour, I check my e-mail to see if my DJ has e-mailed, or if there has been another RSVP or update to a friend's blog. I eat on the clock... 7:30... 11:00... 5:15... and, barring extended study sessions or early groggies, I hit the sack between 10:30 and 11:00
My threshold for aversive stimuli has dropped. Luckily, I like class and I don't mind writing papers; otherwise I'd be in deep shit right now. But unless there's a kick-ass speaker, chapel kills me. Traffic lights, long lines, group gatherings, and being in places where I'm forced to listen to crappy music has become yet more unbearable than before.
I've been playing with yo-yos and dicking around with my bass to pass the other time. Part of it is out of pure fascination for the subjects, the other part, admittedly, is just, as I alluded to before, to pass the time.
I was so excited about coming to HC, but now, honestly, I'm ready to move on. Really, I don't hate the place, and there many things that I'm thankful for that I've gotten to experience as a result of my coming here. Drumming in a college band. Newspaper stuff. Classes with Priest and Ruthi. Meeting and falling in love with Liam. Granted, it's arguable that I would have had comparable experiences elsewhere, but I have no complaints whatsoever about the way things have panned out.
I'm just ready to move on, take my fond memories with me, and start living out a new dream.
Until then, it appears I've got a Fender Jazz Bass and a wall of yo-yos to keep me company.
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4:28 pm - Em map...
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| Wednesday, March 30th, 2005
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8:50 pm - must... get... back... to... studying
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The Prioress
You scored 13% Cardinal, 66% Monk, 58% Lady, and 24% Knight! |
You are a moral person and are also highly intellectual. You like your solitude but are also kind and helpful to those around you. Guided by a belief in the goodness of mankind you will likely be christened a saint after your life is over.
You scored high as both the Lady and the Monk. You can try again to get a more precise description of either the Monk or the lady, or you can be happy that you're an individual. |
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My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
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You scored higher than 8% on Cardinal |
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You scored higher than 89% on Monk |
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You scored higher than 78% on Lady |
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You scored higher than 6% on Knight |
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| Monday, March 28th, 2005
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7:21 pm - ever so tired
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I've found that I've been tired lately... but in more and more precise ways. It seems I've become a connosieur of tired.
It seems that when we are born, the being tired it equivalent to being sleepy, and the antidote to this is to fall asleep. Naturally, this has the potential to create a peculiar sleep pattern, but that, in general, becomes everyone else's problem.
It branched out from there, and new ways of growing tired were discovered. There remained, naturally, the "I'm just friggin' sleepy" tired, but with age came many new flavors. Physical exhaustion. Thinking too hard, for too long. Having nothing to think about, or nothing of great interest. Simply being purely relaxed, and content to call it a day. Being incurably sad or scared to death, and knowing that sleep is the only mental escape. Stumbling across the occassional oh-so-comfy couch.
Most the time, when, people ask about me, they want a better glimpse at my waking life. In a nutshell, I drum, I read, I admire the yo-yo's on my wall. I stall on all matters of laundry and cleaning and occassional matters of homework. On a good day, I have a good conversation or two with friends in the dorm. On a great day, I snuggle and share my thoughts and what often seems like my entire soul with Liam.
Some of the most interesting themes, though, can be observed in my sleeping life. I'm don't mean to imply my dreams, rather, the reality surrounding my sleep and my weariness. Some of my fondest memories involved giggling with Sarah Colbert into the wee hours of the night, eventually drifting off. Among the most spiritually comforting experiences was having a loyal cat that instinctively visited me in my sadness and curled up with me as I cried myself to sleep. The well-deserved, but too-short few hours between finishing a term papar at three AM and turning it in at 8... the final night with my aforemtioned feline friend... the car-ride slumber... naps in the comfort of Liam's arms... the exhilerating nights under the stars...
In moments of tiredness, it seems like a "no holds barred" version of humanity. My insticts and needs seem so much purer.
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| Wednesday, March 16th, 2005
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8:48 pm - non-sappy future stuff
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Talked to Grandma about the printshop stuff mentioned a few posts ago. She liked the idea, and thought it seemed doable. Of course, if someone gives them a good offer before I can secure a loan, that's the way it is. But considering they've been thinking of retiring for a while now and haven't... I mean, it's certianly a possibility, but not one with a high probibility.
The thought of balancing Liam and my careers with each other and with family stuff seems overwhelming at times. If I do eventually own the printshop, that will involve active commitment, and all those worries of being a business owner. Grandma and Grandpa made it work... but again, Grandma AND Grandpa made it work... no small part to Mom and her sisters helping out at the shop and at home where neccessary. Granted, they loved it, but that doesn't inherently mean anything in my case.
On the other hand, I've done printing before, did a kick-ass job, enjoyed every minute of it, and would love to learn more. I'd certainly want to take a few business classes, but I don't think I'd make a bad business owner either. If anything relevant skills and a willingless to learn more is very much on the pro side of the decision.
But the family stuff is unclear. Not a setback at this point, but something that will, if I do pursue it, mean extra responsibility and effort (which isn't always a bad thing). I just don't want my choices to have a negative impact on the attainment of anyone else's goals. Frankly, I realize that settling in one spot so soon, though it may mean securing my dream, may mean limmitting the attainment of Liam's dream of getting his PhD and becoming a prof. Which I can't have. I'm okay with both of us working a little harder to make things work, but I'm not willing to make things impossible for Liam.
*sigh*
I know that if everything can work, though, it will be well worth it. With that will be sacrifices I'm willing to make. The more difficult and painnful sacrifices, though, come when it can't work. And that's the thought I hate the most.
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8:22 am - *sigh*
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First day all year that the birds woke me up. Forgot how peaceful that felt.
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| Thursday, March 3rd, 2005
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12:04 pm - permanence
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11 months of being engaged, and I still spend chapel watching how my ring reflects all the ceiling lights in the MCA. If I hold the ring right up to my eye, it looks like there's an entire universe inside. I know that it's just physics, merely what happens when light and prism-like (and especially multi-faceted) objects such as diamonds interact. But still. It seems fitting that the most cherished relationship in my life is symbolized by something with such infinate beauty.
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| Wednesday, March 2nd, 2005
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7:05 pm - 87 days, 17 hours until the much-awaited glorious day (damn, I have so much to figure out)
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I last left off at the death of Grandma Robbins. I suppose that's to be expected. Life has been going on much as always, but I've noticed I don't write as much as I used to.
Not that there's nothing to say. There is.
I've been with the man I plan on spending the rest of my life with, and much hope is in him and our future family. That's invaluable and worthy of so much reflection and praise. I think of it constantly, and I am ever grateful, optimistic, and endlessly smitten. Yet, for written words, I come up empty more often than not.
I just don't know how to say much anymore. Sometimes I feel as if my social skills have dropped off some proverbial radar. I can talk to Liam about anything, and to my family about a lot. Many of my other interactions, though, seem a blur. I can talk to about anyone in passing, manage to get a few smiles, and have, what I percieve to be a damned worthwhile time. But when it comes to asking if I can join someone for lunch, I'm as fucking shy as I was as a kid. Not that they'll reject me, but that I'll interrupt them. I'll come in at the middle of a conversation, miss the context, and feel like a total ass. Or, they'll have to adjust the conversation to include me, in which I'll feel like an intrusion. I just can't approach people. This sounds weird coming from me, I suppose, because many people I know regard me as articulate, witty, intelligent, thoughful, and all-around a good conversationalist. But honestly I find navigating through allegedly simple interaction increasingly difficult.
Oh, how hard it is to articulate how I find it hard to express much of anything! Damn me!
And now, for the epitome of unexplainable: I've been secretly thinking about it for years, now especially with Grandma Robbins' recent death, I feel somewhat lead to become a professional printer. I know that sounds odd as hell coming from a sociology major, especially considering my GPA and the fact that I've got a number of people expecting me to contine in academia and eventually become a prof or researcher. There seems to be an unspoken protocol that people like me should go to grad school. So, this desire to go into the labor force doing something that will get my hands dirty every day of my career seems odd, I suppose.
But, in all honesty, as much as I enjoy (most) everything that's involved in the academic track... I love working with my hands. I printed in high school and loved it, and have been involved in layout up to the beginning of this year.
And, I admit, there's a bit of a family honor thing. Cromwell Advance was founded by my great-great-grandfather and has been in the family for just short of a century. Maybe I'm being unjustly sentimental, but it seems that soeone who appreciates the legacy should be at the head and at the heart of the business. Grandma and Grandpa Wallace are that exactly that now, but they are past retirement age and would like to settle down at some lake house and relax. But first, the shop needs to be attended to, either sold to some individual to carry on the Cromwell Advance, or some business to buy it and strip it for it's assets. As I insinuated before, I would much prefer the former.
It's not going to happen tomarrow. I'm not that naive. But I could probaly start out the beginning of next year as an apprentice of sorts after I'm done with classes, and devote much time and relentless attention in mastering the zen of printing and the rules of managing a small business (A few classes in the latter would be wise). Then, once I build up the confidence in my work and secure a loan.
And all that won't even be that easy.
We are not a perfect family. There are, as with many other families, things that need abandoned, forgotten, or outgrown--hurts, ideosyncracies, half-baked ideas, past mistakes, and so forth. This, though, needs salvaged. It is, in my mid, unquestionably worth my effort.
Just so much to figure out and so much that I have to convice myself that it's not out of my reach.
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| Monday, February 14th, 2005
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3:54 pm - I forgot what my layout even looked like
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Part of the reason I don't know where to start is because I'm not quite sure where I left off. I think it was around early December, but I don't know. And what's more, I really don't give a proverbial shit.
But I will say what I remember.
Christmas was good, though, and New Year's was even better. Because of a suprise lobster allergy, I crashed hours before the ball dropped, and spent all of January first in my PJ's. But it wasa stylish indisposal, with Liam reading me A Cricket in Times Square, a few ticklefights, and much talking and snuggling. Damn fine day.
J-Term went well, not remarkably well or incredibly memorable, but time passedpainlessly and I learned a few things, so I have no complaints. There was the table-washing bit to gain forgiveness for my chapel-skipping trasgression and regain my spot at the Feast, but even that carried with it a few pleasant bits. Marquita has to be one of the most genuinely polite and cordial people I sorta know, so what the punishment lacked in logic (I was sick, dammit, and will someone please tell me what the heck this has to do with impacting the world for Christ?), it made up for in introspective fuel.
Saw Liam at break, some struggles with him breaking his collarbone and other crap, but a respectable amount of snugglage, the opportunity to see Liam teach a class, and our fist premarital counseling session. And, to contine what I hope will become a fine tradition, I read him my copy of The Pushcart War while he was down.
Three weeks of classes approached with detachment, which brings us to, well, nowish.
I maybe should mention a turning point musically, with Pep Band ending tomarrow and no other gigs in sight, but screw it. I kinda care, but then again, maybe I don't. Maybe that's not fair. I smile looking back, and I hope this isn't the end of my drumming career, but I don't forsee any weepiness ahead, at least in that regard. And hell, I've got my djembe that I can play anytime, and my bass and my bongos... it's not goodbye. Which is good. I hate goodbyes.
Grandma Robbins died Saturday. She had a stroke about a month ago while ironing some clothes, and her condition got progressively worse. They transported her to the hospital and then to the nursing home, and she never saw her beloved kitty or lovey home again, though she forgot about those pretty quickly. She also forgot that her husband and parents had died several decades ago (and was heartbroken when they didn't visit). And when I said goodbye Tuesday, I couldn't ascertain whether she'd fogotten me, too. Weird thought. Sad, after 19 years of so many cherished moments, but in a way, I had this instinctive understanding. There was no hope of recovery, there might not have been any mutual recognition, and there sure wasn't much comfort, but there was still love. I told her the latter, and with all she could muster, she said she loved me too.
I'm not looking forward to the service, because I hate all the post-death schticks... the "they're in a better place" ... "it was time" ... "it was a good life" ... "it's okay to cry" ... I mean, they're certainly true, but they are also so easy to say, which can make them so empty. And the last thing anyone needs when facing a loved ones death is emptiness. Yet, I suppose some people don't know any better, and I think closure is conducive to being there.
Damn, I hate goodbyes.
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| Tuesday, December 14th, 2004
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4:43 pm - yay for band geeks!
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| Monday, December 6th, 2004
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6:52 pm - save the kittens
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| Sunday, December 5th, 2004
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1:56 pm - whoa, haven't done that in a long time...
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Last night, I was up until about 2 or so surfing the net. I decided not to set my alarm and just get up whenever.
I woke up a couple minutes ago.
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| Friday, December 3rd, 2004
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12:42 am - Em no sleep
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It's amazing the weird thought trajectory that develops as I try to get some sleep.
It's a cold night, so I pulled the covers up high and tucked one arm under my pillow and let the other flop around my waist. I recalled that as in mid-childhood, my bed tucking habits cost me several minutes of sleep a night. I wanted to make sure my arms were concealed enough that no stranger could easily slit my wrists in my slumber, but in plain enough view that it became abundantly clear to the casual observer that there was no intrinsic joy or secret perks in sleeping with my hands under the covers.
We later moved to Louisiana to a respectable suburban neighborhood. Within the fences (I've been fenced in for much of my life), there was a little creek that Annette, Jack, and I would catch baby crawfish in, a pool for countless hours of swimming and tanning, and a big enough and perpetually warm enough backyard to practice Tae Kwon Do with Dad virtually year round. Outside that fence, though, scary things lurked. (For one, that's where we released Annette's attack rabbit.) There was an old abandoned shack. It was rumored to be a crackhouse or something, at least among everybody who'd never been there, which incidentally, was everybody I ever knew. But there remained the fact that it was only a stone's throw from my bedroom. So every now and then, I'd stay up and listen for evidence that the black hole to the my universe, that a potential inescapable gravitational pull capable of sucking the perfectly suburban life out of good kids, was a less than a good high but more than my most terrified scream away. I waited by my window in the night to hear something or spot some shadow that would confirm or deny my suspicions.
We moved to Germany. Strangers and legends were the least of my worries, even with my peers assertion that the old warehouse on the block was really the secret hideout for "Siam" some allegedly twisted killer or something. There was no reason to take them seriously; they were liars. That in itself kept me awake. I had a reason to distrust my own companions. For a time, I pondered this into the wee hours of the morning until I eventually cried myself to sleep.
In high school, I became a martyr for a cause few ever gave a damn about. A vast number of my classmates frequently cheated, so I decided I was determined to never cut any corners in my studies, just to prove to those bastards and to myself that integrity and diligence always wins. Lab reports were meticulously poured over, books were exhausted from cover to cover and expounded on in blemish-less literary critiques, and often reached the teacher's hand early. There was too much at stake for sleep.
In college I got sick. My body was at a constant battle with it's own tissue, and I realized I had the inclination to fear me. And I had all along. And all my life, it wasn't the midnight-wrist-splicer that kept me awake, or the potential Armageddon battleground beyond the world I knew, or the liars or the cheaters. It was, at times, a humorously overactive imagination, but mostly, a fear or the unknown. All the intricacies that separated me from the murderous scoundrels, the pubescent teenyboppers, the wayward students.
I'm long over most of that. My life and the people in it really aren't that bad, in fact, some of them are really kickass specimens. The more I think about it the more names and faces come to mind. Liam and Mom and Dad and Annette and Christina and my profs, of course... but even in any given day, I encounter a couple great strangers. Life's far from perfect, but I have every reason to feel secure.
But it just hit me that all that time...
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| Thursday, December 2nd, 2004
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9:24 am - badass... well... kind of...
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I now am sporting a Save John Sanders shirt and skipping chapel to clean my room and catalogue my foreign currency. For a HC student, that's dark!
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| Wednesday, December 1st, 2004
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9:56 pm
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++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Superman (It's Not Easy) -- Five for Fighting
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I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naive
I'm just out to find
The better part of me
I'm more than a bird I'm more than a plane
More than some pretty face beside a train
It's not easy to be me
Wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
About a home I'll never see
It may sound absurd but don't be naive
Even Heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed but won't you concede
Even Heroes have the right to dream
It's not easy to be me
Up, up and away away from me
It's all right You can all sleep sound tonight
I'm not crazy or anything
I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naive
Men weren't meant to ride
With clouds between their knees
I'm only a man in a silly red sheet
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking for special things inside of me
It's not easy to be me.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
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6:18 pm - trephining
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It still astounds me how many things I can feel at once, and yet how emotionally constipated I can remain through all the sensations at times.
**********
This afternoon, I wanted to flip somebody a very naughty gesture. Actually, I wanted too see blood, I wanted to hear pleads amongst gasps for air, I wanted someone to know under no uncertain terms that what they said hurt, and thus, my mercy was needed for life to proceed as normal.
It's no secret that I'm one sick puppy. And honestly, I don't care if people know that. I got a exam back today, not horrid by any means, but still reflective of some of the struggles I've been experiencing over the semester. I briefly discussed this with the prof, to whom a mutual trust and respect exists. A classmate, who's also aware that I struggle chronic health issues, obviously eavesdropping, asked if this health stuff would make it impossible for me to get pregnant or have kids.
I respond with a polite and meek, "Well, I'm not sure..." And I'm thinking..."Who the fuck do you think you are?!?" I mean really. Liam and my doctors: definitely privy to that kind of stuff. Close friends: if discussing concerns are cathartic, empathetic, or somehow beneficial to the relationship, all right.
But who the hell asks stuff like that, anyways? Am weird for categorizing different health maladies in "discuss" and "don't discuss" groups, and expect people to be sensitive to seemingly obvious boundaries? I mean, am I overly private for thinking that stuff like cuts, scrapes, fatigues, colds, broken bones, maybe circulation issues and common indisposal bits are fair game, but questions about digestive or reproductive plumbing, hairy moles, weird discharges, and displaced birthmarks are best left to professionals, trusted friends, and potential bed buddies?
And in addition to that, how did the classmate think they'd deal with the response? I'm so in love with my kids already, how can they grasp my agony of potentially never knowing them... or my infinite delight is the possibility that I will... or all the intricacies of what all of this means to me?
**********
It seems like I'm sinking into mediocrity, how I feel like everybody's favorite dumbass, and how confused I am around all these inarguably academically-minded and successful people. Yet people whom are held in high esteem gravitate towards, even value and cherish me. Profs want me to work for them and single me out for special attention. Classmates want to work with me in groups. In less than six months, I'm marrying quite the alpha male. Everyone knows my name.
I've discussed this with a few people, and have gotten a variety of different responses. Mostly, I'm allegedly bright but burnt out, with worries about sickness and plannings of wedding stuff on my mind. Nineteen and a senior in college, far from average. Thoughtful and bursting with ideas, just in light of learning preferences and personal issues, unable to regurgitate and repackage squeaky-clean answers for exams. Far from average. As for the buffoonery, silliness that reflects on a creative, deliberative, and uninhibited mind, and in essence, brings a bit of meaning to every room I walk into. More than just wittiness... integrity... and well integrated with my personal observations, thoughts, and maturity. Even in light of non "Em-esque" performances, for whatever reason, there's still depth that people can appreciate. Or something.
The other day, I asked Liam if he'd be cool with me possibly never going to grad school, getting a non-egghead job that I just enjoyed, and shooting from there. He said of course. I pointed out that this might present potential strain, being surrounded by an academic environment, with many titled friends and cohorts, and having a wife with more ambiguous accolades. Yes, I'm still very much appreciated, respected, and loved. Tina said today that I'd probably fit in anyways, and still be far from mediocre.
**********
Thanksgiving break... good times... a good amount of snugglage and laughs... and Jeremy seriously does the best turkey...
I feel strikingly comfortably in the presence of the in-laws. Even the dog, which is generally borderline absurd for me. Liam and I got our fill of us time, but there were also cool, well, "family" moments with all of us -- playing with Conan, talking over dinner, watching movies, etc.
I used to be so nervous about what they might think of me, which now seems utterly preposterous. They highly approve of/accept/love me. Period.
**********
I just wish I knew why. Why love, why hate... Every human emotion feel so imminent, and I feel so naked and insecure.
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| Tuesday, November 30th, 2004
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9:05 pm - what the hell do you mean I'm a secular humanist, you self-righteous little turds?
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Okay...giggle for the day.
A few weeks ago, I found the Nehemiah Institute's Mini-PEERS Assessment online, filled it out, and had them send the results via snail mail (because they won't just e-mail it to me) to my school addy.
They asked 20 questions on a Likert scale about Politics, Economics, Education, Religion, and Social issues. (Hence the name PEERS...clever little devils, doncha think?) The point is to gauge, yes, how "Christian" the test-taker's "worldview" is. They give actual letter grades on performance in each category, and tally the whole thing up to determine whether the taker should be categorized under "Biblical Theism" "Moderate Christian" "Secular Humanism" or "Socialism." (WTF? Since when has "socialist" been the antithesis of "Christian" anyways?)
And today, I opened my mailbox to find they spent a FULL 37 CENTS to tell me that I'm a pitiful "secular humanist" according to their worldview classification, and that I need "help".
Bless them.
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| Wednesday, November 17th, 2004
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10:10 am - fortune cookie time!
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Sometimes a stranger can bring great meaning to your life.
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| Tuesday, November 2nd, 2004
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11:51 am - small release
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Yesterday, a prof returned a test to me. She said my grade was respectable enough, but she knows I can do better. That's pretty much the story of my semester. Though my performance is commendable enough, a lack of motivation keeps me from thriving in academia like I used to. Sure, I'm still witty, and I'm still bright, but the fire barely lingers. I'm in a rut, and I feel like I can't get out, and I don't want to lose face in personal explanations.
Just had a small chat with a casual friend about depression. I'm not sure how it came up, but we shared some of our struggles, and how, despite the support and love of others feeling alone is so inevitable.
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| Sunday, October 31st, 2004
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8:00 pm - Indiana 5--II
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Sometimes it's odd to consider that a few hours is the only thing that separates me from pure bliss and mere contentment.
I like my life. I really do. I have my physical needs like food and shelter met. I have a personality that though more time than not I come off looking like a bit of a geek, people genuinely like me, and more than that, enjoy my company. I'm witty, I'm intelligent, and I own the complete set of Rocky and Bullwinkle videos. I have a promising future with my soon-to-be husband and whatever kids may come.
It's all grand.
But a few hours ago, I was actually in Liam's arms. I've never felt happier, and as always, it was so hard to let go.
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| Friday, October 29th, 2004
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8:27 am - yeah!
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I'll see Liam in less than 12 hours! WHAAAAAAHOOOOOOOOO!
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