Possible

I am not yet done with my thesis. I am behind big time.

In my theoretical introduction I sometimes say some smart things. And then I read another line and think, haven't you already said that? And that goes on for like twelve pages, just in case the good old reader didn't get it the first time. How many ways can you say suffering is a requirement for beauty? A gazillion billion. I just keep saying it.

My stories are nearly done and I love them. I love how reckless my characters are; I love their stupid choices. I love how they wash dishes, wipe down soup cans, clean up coke spills, even when their lives are spiraling into chaos. I love the words on the page. The English language has the best words. Honey. Apple. Clumsy. Moon.

I wrote a story for my UOU class. The story is different than the stories in my thesis. I am proud of the lyric poetry. My professor said promising things.

It is time for me to brush my teeth and take out my contacts and go to bed.

Harrison proudly says that he has only been grounded once in his life. In the fourth grade. This separates him from his friends. All except Curt who doesn't get grounded either.

Mira says she is not impossible, she is possible.

Max just reads, reads, reads. He has read over ten novels this month.

Anne is gone and I miss her. It's like I could handle her being gone for a year if I could just have her for an hour every month. Just to sit on my bed and tell me some stupid story and I would laugh.

She is changing, but is still the same. She was mad at me this week, and I watched her pouty face over ichat, and I laughed at her, in the same way you laugh at a child who is throwing a fit. So cute, so impossible.

Tomorrow I will go to BYU and sit in my office and write emails and go over student papers.