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i can hear ringing of the bells

I think maybe the storm has passed, for now – but I’m not taking down the storm windows just yet.

I don’t know what it is really. Where do these feelings come from? The ones I can’t even name.

Not discontent, really. Not unhappiness, not anger even. Something more like fear and self-loathing.

Friday night passed into calmer territory. As I sat at the computer writing my pitiful entry I felt something loosen in my chest – something give away to reason and hope.

And so I high-tailed it to the bathroom and swept a bit of eyeliner, mascara and glittery Urban Decay Midnight Cowboy eyeshadow onto my eyes and a bit of Vixen lipstick onto my lips, changed into knee-length denim skirt, knee-high socks and black button down top and headed out the door.

In an act of defiance, however, I decided to hell with the contact lenses. Even though I’d just picked up my replacement lens the day before I was kind of liking the glasses look.

I mean really liking it. If it weren’t for the damn sun making me squint I could go almost forgo the damn lenses entirely. Maybe I’ll be looking into those custom-glasses/sunshade deals.

Anyway, what I meant to say was that I made it to the Club where GB was really glad to see me (this despite my earlier ultra-bitchiness and hanging up on him) and he apologized for not listening to me earlier and it felt good to be back with him again.

How is that one person can make you feel so right? Even when you have doubts about everything – including your destiny to be in a long-term relationship?

I just want to know that.

And so the rock night rocked on and Saturday night too – but still underneath it all I have felt this odd, indescribable sadness.

A certain glumness.

Yesterday it all settled around me – with no rock shows or consumerism or glittering anything to help break it up. Despite a trip to the Farmer’s Market I just couldn’t shake off the sadness.

A quiet, yet desperate sense of why, why, why.

The only cure, it seemed, was to storm the kitchen and throw myself into a cooking frenzy.

The resulting dish – a Moroccon Chickpea Egglant stew of which GB misheard the name – shall be forever known as “Rockin’ Chickpea Eggplant stew”.

Rockin’ indeed.

Last night, as a thank-you for dinner and a way to lighten the post-“Six Feet Under” mood, GB treated me to frozen yogurt and a trip to watch the summer firecrackers.

The wait was long and the firecrackers brief – but the setting was beautiful and the mood, though still tinged with sadness, somewhat lighter.

And now, back to work. Three day work week because Thursday and Friday have been reserved for orientation at the new college.

And yeah, I’m basically still freaking out about all of that. Hopefully the orientation and a meeting with my advisor will help defray some of those nerves.

In the meantime, work, work, work.

Oh, and leftover Rockin’ Chickpea Eggplant stew for lunch.

11:15 a.m. - 08.19.02

sounds: Aimee Mann - Lost in Space
words: Stating the Obvious
i am: resting in the eye of the storm

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previously on ... - next time on ...

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