oranges in the tree

I left my Chinese and my Staropramen in Gene's car. Now, of course, I really want them.

Another day and night of Metro, relaxing. I didn't do a lot of homework, hardly any. Played a lot of cards.

The grey sky forces me to think about what I want, for myself, for my life. I should write, but it is so inchoate, lost. I want to cut my hair shorter and be free. I want to fly. Cobblestones and different voices, another lifetime.

The ravens are gliding on the north wind, weightless circling. I envy that.

Is it unrealistic to yearn? To feel so empty and too young to feel this way? Patience is not my best quality. There are easy answers, safe paths. But I don't think that is where I am supposed to go.

I talked with Reive about attraction once, about falling for people older than myself. How it has much to do with knowledge, the sense of living and experiencethat comes from being there. It's why I liked Keith's companionship, why some of the best friendships from my college years are with professors instead of students.

So many of my fondest characters are older, strange men and women. They have lived long, difficult lives. They have many stories.

I yearn for worlds beyond my reach, things that do not exist.

(no subject)

An irritating gaggle of business students, younger than me, held things up at close. I was about to murder them all. Insulted one of my coworkers quite roundly in Czech today, but of course he didn't understand. Such a pity.

Great plans afoot to make something with the venison sausage my father gave me.
I'm so tired. Eating a bowl of hominy, which is one of my favorite vegetables. Don't know what they do to the corn, but it's fluffy and yummy.