Every poem I write is, in some way, a love poem.

My Religion paper is about God as Artist. The final story for my Creative Writing portfolio is about a woman who is deeply moved by beauty but can't express it. My English paper may end up being about aesthetics versus morality. I don't know if each idea is inspired by the others, or if this theme is indicative of some recent subconscious contemplation.

I'm making a list of things to do this summer. I won't do everything on the list, but I'll make an effort to pick one thing daily, do it, and create a journal entry about it if I think it was worthwhile. I'm shooting for an initial list of 100+ activities, both silly and serious, and I'm looking for suggestions from YOU, MY FRIENDS. What are some things that you think I won't think of? What would you be interested in reading about?

The end of my semester looks like this:

1. Statistics Exam (due May 2)
2. OCircus! and related rehearsals (now-May 4)
3. Statistics Project (due May 9)
4. Creative Writing Portfolio (due May 10)
5. CRWR 310 Application (due May 12)
6. Statistics Final Exam (May 14)
7. 10-page English Paper (due May 15)
8. Religion Final Exam (May 16)
9. 10-page Religion Paper (due May 16)

Whenever I have a lot of work, my brain is like, "I CAN'T. Oh wait, I think I can! NO I CAN'T. Yes I can! NO. Yes!" etc.

I'm not sad anymore. If I don't think about the future, I feel okay. Right now, I love somebody and some-other-bodies, and I'm about to skip Contemporary Religious Thought to sit in the Java Zone and write stories about love and madness.

If I'm in Oberlin next semester, I want to take Itineraries of Postmodernism, Organismal Biology, Poetry Workshop, and a private reading in something amazing like Ethnobotany.

I have a question for everyone. If you were me, would you rather take A) Modern British & Irish Fiction, or B) Contemporary Religious Thought in the West? And why?

The sun emerges over the treetops to the east between 8:06 and 8:08 am. It's been a while since I've been awake to see this. Cold toes, hot tea. I feel better than I did yesterday.

I need to be writing again.

Ashley's bag is finished! A little sloppy where some of the seams come together, but functional and colorful. (I want to post a picture of it, but I can't get the photos off the camera because I am inept and/or cursed.) Eventually, I'll get around to making another bag for me, as my old one is threatening to fall apart. I have so many ideas for projects! And no sewing machine at school. If I could find one for less than $75 or so, I'd snatch it up.

I've written seven lines of poetry today. Two of them are good. I'm pleased with myself: this is more creative writing than I've done all summer. I'm going to stare at it for a while longer, although I know I'm getting tired because I keep looking at words like "these" and "touch" and wondering if they're spelled correctly or exist at all.

I am in craziness place now. I keep connecting to the Internet because it makes me numb and stupid and thus able to function. (What does that say about the status quo of human emotion?) Even listening to music makes me want to chew my cuticles, and attempting to make art has me on the verge of gnawing off my own hands. I sketch a bit; I take refuge in facebook. I play Vienna Teng's "Harbor" a couple of times; I skulk back to livejournal. I blame autumn for my instability—if there's a time of year more reminiscent of brinks, I haven't met it. And ART. And what I learned about myself from Mr. Walpole, which is (go look at your eyes they're full of moon).

I am discontent down at the bone. I want someone to dizzy me. I need new.