I thought maybe getting a new livejournal would make me want to write in it, but I was wrong. I think I'll just start copying and pasting my xanga (www.xanga.com/mealworms) to this journal so they'll be identical.
Until then, here's what's up.
Thurs - off
Fri- off
Sat-Sat = Chicago!!

I haven't decided if I'm going to bring the stuff for the internet along to Chicago, but I'll bring my laptop anyways. To upload pictures & stuff.

Ugh, I really wish I knew how to embroider.

Today they sent some men into space; I watched it on tv. They said "all the nation is holding their breath." And I watched as they counted down on some gigantic LCD clock. Until the hours became minutes became seconds. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. And the whole nation exhaled as the sky turned orange in some wizard-of-oz type smoke. But no man behind the curtain appeared. No one got any courage, brains, or heart. They just went up, up, up, higher and higher and higher. And their speed kept increasing. I watched it go from hundreds to thousands. I watched the pictures sent back from the external fuel tank until it "jettisoned" off.
And back in the suburbs I watched a Floridian on my tv set say, "My best friend is up there." I supposed he meant on the spacecraft, and he was so proud. And I didn't know him. And he was hundreds of miles away. But I whispered, "mine is too." Mine is too.

And I said God! I thought we were past this! [this non-stop fighting over stupid petty things, to make us tear at the seams like ninth-grade lovers do]
You: I thought so, too
Well i guess not, I guess not. I hung up and I didn't know you were still speaking. [my apologies]
Me: I let it all out, and I never do that on the phone.
Her: Well, that's good.
[it doesn't feel too good.]
Me: I don't care, I won't be the first to apologize. [but i'm already buying the "i love you" cards, and checking the lot for your car. and thinking of what to write like 'i let my pride get in the way..' even if my heart knows you are at fault].
and it's 12:00 midnight and i'm being told how great i am by some boy who used to "love" me. and it makes me happy for a while, but i wish it were (you) saying those things instead. [but oh god we are both so proud and middle-children. and we both know the other doesn't mean it when he/she says 'im sorry'. i'll have to wait until the morning to give in and make that call.]
and then you call.
You: I'm sorry.
Me: Do you mean it?
You: Yes. [and i believe you, but that i believe you, you don't believe. we're circuitous. i love it.] but still you persist that you acted that way because there was "more" "building up to it."
Well I guess maybe i am a shitty girlfriend. [but i don't like to hear it, and you know this].
Me:I love you
You: I love you, too
And I think I smelled maturity on your breath in that apology. Maybe we aren't past the stupid fights, but at least we grew balls to apologize. And hell, that's at least 10th grade, right?

testicles