I am wearing my favorite hat today. I bought it in Breckinridge a few years ago, but it rarely gets cold enough for me to wear it. Today, it’s chilly. I am wearing my Pearl Izumi jacket, a cute green long-sleeve shirt and my favorite jeans. I put my hair in pigtails. I feel very good! There’s no other way to explain it. I just feel lovely, awake and calm. Perhaps I am suffering from delusions. This lack of angst over my midterm tomorrow flows with an unfamiliar rhythm. I like this space and I will endeavor to remain here, cute hair and all.

I am – this is going to be intensely personal, so if your aren’t prepared to know some of the darker details of my life, its best if you stop reading.

I’ve contemplated a recent conversation. The darkness enveloped her face when she and I talked about all of the similarities. We share manic-depression. We were both the victims of incest and rape. Our parents handled the truth of the incest by denying the reality. They invited the aggressor back into our home. When we were raped, it was brutal. And it’s not hard to see all of this behind her dark eyes. I often wonder if I am as transparent. What kind of sisterhood is this? The sisterhood of the recovering victim? Are we part of the same strange statistical circumstance? We’ve loved women, both physically and emotionally. I am not conversing with myself. She occupies her own space. Her laughter is unique. But that joyous sound sometimes catches on the edges of the past. Can you really laugh when you have been that scarred? I can. I think she can as well. We are both cutters. Well, I am a cutter, she scratches. And when I explained why I did it, she understood. Sometimes you just need the pain to let the emotions loose. She is not me. I am not her, yet I sense a familiar soul. Perhaps I am reading too much into this. I tend to get very intense when I meet interesting people. I long to absorb their stories, their unique details. But as we talked, separated by a curtain of fragrant smoke, I almost felt like I was speaking into my own mirror. I know the darkness of her stories. Now, I will search for the light. She laughs with truth, if that makes any sense. It’s not polluted by expectation or propriety. We both snort when we laugh. Our bellies shake, and appendages flail. There is something in that laughter, and that is something we share as well.

We are still having the punkin carving party on Saturday. I am buying the pumpkins, and people are bringing their kits . I would like Hollie to come so that she can use the guts for her wonderful bread, but I have to get off my ass and actually call her back. I am so bad about the phone.

Friday marks the beginning of a long weekend for D and I. Five days of biking homework (because school doesn’t respect our holiday) and relaxation. We are going to take the beasties to the dog park. We are going to relax. I am looking forward to it. I want to take a nice bath with him (we still have all of those bath bombs from Lush) and goof off. I want to dance as we converse about things that mean little. I want to snuggle on the couch. I want us to be alone. Well, except for Saturday Then I want everyone to come over and set fire to things with me. I love fire.

So, I am going to try to take a funny picture with my cameraphone. I want you to see my hat. If I can’t get it to work (the pictures have been doing something wierd!) then I will take a good one with my camera. I hope you have a happy Tuesday.