Jedi Council Forums - Or [Dear Diary 2009 challenge] Updated 11/19

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Author	Topic: Or [Dear Diary 2009 challenge] Updated 11/19
Pandora26 Registered: Apr '05	Date Posted: 1/4 7:42pm Subject: Or [Dear Diary 2009 challenge] Updated 11/19 - Date Edited: 11/19 4:01pm (22 edits total) Edited By: Pandora26
	Title: Or Characters: OCs Timeframe: The original trilogy Summary: The diary, or possible subversive document, of a middle class Kuati young woman. Note: This is for the Dear Diary Challenge 2009. Or Today, my brother (or the boy who once upon the time was my brother) was sold as a telbun. He belongs to Gailesia Darsk. Oh, I remember her, from the two times I met her. She is two years my senior, with snow rose skin and green eyes her mother chose for her before she was even born. She’s pretty, but I never thought she was at all intelligent. She gave me a dust grey stuffed cat that my mother, of course, made me give back. She smiled when I kicked her, just to see if I could. It was her younger brother, a flushed-smug brat, who actually chased me out of their garden, slapping at me with a ornamental whip. Anyway, my mother told me that their mother, the Matriarch, gave him to her during her birthday games. She’s been married for over a year, and it was time. When I kicked Gailesia, I remember I was wearing black boots, the sort soldiers and military officers wear. I liked them, especially compared to those awful, candy pink shoes my mother had gotten for me. I hoped, for a second, and a secret, that I had hurt, and bruised her. I was thirteen, and it was the last time I saw her. Most of the time, I could only want to be like that. I’ll admit that, even here, where I can reveal everything, or go ahead and lie. I was quiet, and gawky-tall, too tall. Though I’m not certain how tall a twelve, or thirteen, year old girl is supposed to be. So most people, like my teachers, and the cooing nice, rich ladies on the social board, thought, and assumed, I was meek. I know, at least now, I was afraid they were right. I’ve heard that my brother looks like me. Well, I suppose that would be obvious. But I don’t remember him, even as a baby. He was taken off for training, like all the boys who become telbun, from the hospital days after he was born. I know he looks like me (and even if I might be smart, or clever, I’m mostly thought to be pretty), but I have never, ever, known what his name is. Or rather, what his name was. There isn’t much else I can say about him. I don’t know why I wrote all this down, but perhaps I don’t have to know. Oh, my mother knew what to say. She would. They have already used part of the compensation to have their old skeleton white droid scrapped, and have hired a slum girl to come in and clean the house. All their friends are oooohing. But I didn’t realize, until I had (happily, and almost soon enough) hung up, that I wished I could have gone back for that droid. He would be there in the grey-cold kitchen when I left for school, while my mother was still drowned deep in sleep. I would fly, that easy, and that fast, over the hundreds of kilometers to the city where my parents live, and then to the scrap-house. I’ve always been good at flying in dreams, including that one night, and time, I landed in waist deep snow on some distant, imagined mountain. But I knew, and I know, that I won’t do it. Because I can’t. -----signature----- we'll take our hearts outside leave our lives behind I'll watch the stars go out --dubstar "stars"
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NYCitygurl Title: Manager of SFFBC, C&G, NSWFF, and Icons Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 1/4 8:21pm Subject: RE: Or [Dear Diary 2009 challenge]
	Wow, I really like this! I'm interestd in this girl Will she ever get to know her brother? If you've got a PM list, please add me! -----signature----- I agree with RJ Officially Idri's Muse "Hat. We thought of authentic Native American headdress before we thought of hat."
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divapilot Registered: Nov '05	Date Posted: 1/5 3:16am Subject: RE: Or [Dear Diary 2009 challenge]
	Interesting start! I love how you've already thrown me straight into her world, assuming that I would know certain things and understand social situations. For some reason, her parentheticals really appeal to me. It's as if she's explaining it to herself as she goes along. The dream of flying is really interesting. It makes me wonder how much of a dreamer she is -- and if it was a dream at all. This is very intriguing, and I am looking forward to the next entry. -----signature----- Never tell me the odds. UConn: Huskies forever! RIP Jasper Howard, #6 "Focus on what matters. It's about the GAME, not each other. Dumb humans."
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Pandora26 Registered: Apr '05	Date Posted: 1/8 9:15pm Subject: RE: Or [Dear Diary 2009 challenge] - Date Edited: 1/15 5:39pm (1 edits total) Edited By: Pandora26
	NYCitygurl: Wow, I really like this! I'm interestd in this girl Will she ever get to know her brother? I'm glad you like it, and I hope the narrator continues to be interesting. As for her brother-- the Magic Eight Ball says it is highly unlikely she will ever meet him. But the Magic Eight Ball could change its mind. If you've got a PM list, please add me! Consider it done. divapilot: Interesting start! I love how you've already thrown me straight into her world, assuming that I would know certain things and understand social situations. Since I'm trying to make this look as much like a real, private diary as a work intended for outside readers can be, the narrator couldn't explain things she has always known, that have been constant, and unquestioned, parts of her world for thousands of years. So I'm glad (and a bit relieved) you liked it. The dream of flying is really interesting. It makes me wonder how much of a dreamer she is -- and if it was a dream at all. So far as I know, it was only a dream. Of course, if the narrator starts waking up with melted snow in her sheets... This is very intriguing, and I am looking forward to the next entry. Thanks! -----signature----- we'll take our hearts outside leave our lives behind I'll watch the stars go out --dubstar "stars"
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Pandora26 Registered: Apr '05	Date Posted: 1/15 5:29pm Subject: RE: Or [Dear Diary 2009 challenge] - Date Edited: 1/19 11:18pm (6 edits total) Edited By: Pandora26
	* I’ve never been any good at keeping a journal. Oh, I can write well enough if it’s an essay or review that I have to write, for class or my stern, sterling, and dull supervisor. But that’s it. My father did give me that small, lavenderpink writing datapad when I was about twelve, but I only wrote a few sentences that I tried to make into a story, and well, obviously, failed. And I realized (while I was at work today, looking over a shipment of old, even ancient books, so old they’re made from paper, for the secure collection) that I’ve never wanted to. Yes, we did receive another new edition of Philomen Meek’s collected diaries, as this dear, sweet, and safe journal already knows. Philomen Meek. She was born with shriveled doll legs and a weak heart, and spent most of her life shut up in her room, the room with the famous window where she wrote her diaries, the thousands of pages that describe, and I quote, “a world she could only watch as though it were a play acted out for her entertainment.” Her brother and sister became famous (and still well-known) poets, but she just wrote, and wrote, her diary. I think I have always avoided writing a diary, just to make certain that I never, ever, and ever end up like Philomen Meek. Obviously, that is not what my teachers wanted me to think. Of course, she isn’t the only famous woman, or man, whose diaries, or letters, when people still bothered with that, are in this archive. But I’ve always avoided reading them, and not even because I prefer stories that are lies. It seems, though perhaps I’ll change my mind, that journals are stories meant only for the person who wrote them. But since I needn’t worry about this being found, or being understood if it were found, since I’m writing it with my own fair, if shaking-sloppy hand, I think I can continue. Though I will not, not, write about my mother. I was reading through what I wrote several days ago, and I was appalled that I mentioned her so many times. I couldn’t believe I was so sentimental, so moon-eyed, over my parents’ droid, or that I wrote what I did. It felt mostly false, mostly wrong, except I know that dream was quite real— Anyway, I shall have to think of something I can write about. I’ll start with the book I bought today, a new and glossy novella by an author I’ve heard of, but haven’t read before. Oh, and I might have a drink, a red, boyish drink, before I use the time to read it, to make up for the five minutes I spent listening to my supervisor blah blah blah. It’s that exciting. * There isn’t much to say, let alone write, but since I’m sitting at my desk with nothing to do, and nothing in sight for the next few hours, I’m going to write it anyway. I’ve started reading the book I’m sure I mentioned last week. Alas, I’ve only started it, and mostly only seem to read about five, or ten, pages of it when I’m right here at my desk, or lying in bed. It’s all right, but only all right. Most books are like that. But it is set in a minor city on Lis that I’ve heard of, but never seen even mentioned in a novella before. You know. Most stories, and books, stay in that one special, important, starlight glittering city on every world, the one and only city that everyone has heard of, and seems to long for. It’s funny, and normal. I have never been to Lis (which was also, in a coincidence, Philomen Meek's homeworld), and I don't expect that I ever will. Most of the books in the collection, and most of the books I've read, are from other worlds. I can think of a few Kuati authors, one of whom used to live in this city, but only a few. I'm sure that is supposed to be because people here are too busy making ships for words, words, words. Ha, ha. Then I must be able to write this because my father might have lived here for years, but he is still an off-worlder. And I just noticed Ketzia come in. Well, she drifted in, even though she’s eight (or it might be nine) months pregnant, and always flushed and sighing. She must not have anything to do either, and so she’ll want to talk to me. And she'll want to know what I'm writing. So I had better have this finished, and hidden away, before she comes over. -----signature----- we'll take our hearts outside leave our lives behind I'll watch the stars go out --dubstar "stars"
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NYCitygurl Title: Manager of SFFBC, C&G, NSWFF, and Icons Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 1/19 2:00pm Subject: RE: Or [Dear Diary 2009 challenge] Updated 1/15
	This is sweet! Great update -----signature----- I agree with RJ Officially Idri's Muse "Hat. We thought of authentic Native American headdress before we thought of hat."
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Pandora26 Registered: Apr '05	Date Posted: 1/22 1:32pm Subject: RE: Or [Dear Diary 2009 challenge] Updated 1/15 - Date Edited: 1/22 8:43pm (3 edits total) Edited By: Pandora26
	NYCitygurl: Thanks! * Someone left me a congratulations note on my desk at work. It must have been there for days because it was slipped under an old, heavy book on the corner I keep my detail-lamp on, the book I don’t usually pick up. I was not (and am not) pleased. I don’t want the people at work, including the ones I like or don’t mind, to know about my personal life. I would never tell them about my brother. But instead of ripping it in half, and tossing it, I just had to open it and look. It was a cream-pale card made of thick, expensive, and likely handmade paper. There was no message, or, and rather conveniently, a signed name. Only the printed finger-wagging: Rejoice at your family’s good fortune. That was when I knew it couldn’t have been D., my supervisor. She would have given me the note in person, with a sweet, yet condescending smile. And, well, it would have smelled like her book-dust perfume. It only smelled like the paper, the paper, I should add, that none of my co-workers can afford. I should have still tossed it, especially as this person couldn’t bother to sign it. But instead I pushed it back under that book, and then, within minutes, put it at the bottom of the one drawer I (almost) never use. Even though I wanted (and hoped) to forget about it, I know I won't. There's a reason I've written about it here, for later. When I had my break, I stopped by the reference desk to talk to Ketzia. She was watching the door, her hair lit up in that constant nightlight glow from all the holobooks. I tried to find out, casually, and discreetly, if she had seen anything. But I didn’t know the right questions to ask, and I’m not sure she knew what I was talking about. Well, I couldn’t expect her (or Roderick, who I asked later), to remember if they noticed anyone near my desk in the past fortnight. I know I can’t remember. Oh, and (since I may as well change to another, if similar, subject), my parents have sent me my part of the compensation, which happens to be more money than I have ever made in one year, and that would be an Imperial Center year. It is, as that cliché on the note said, my good fortune. I haven’t spent it. But I have started looking around, if only in a lazy, aimless way, for a new and better flat. It is certainly time. * I’ve got something. Even if it is only that my flat is so cold today I have to hop, hop across the floor. The old lady who runs this house did it again. My face feels like it was made from porcelain, thanks to the little, blood-red pill I took for my sinuses. Oh, I can’t wait until I move. I shall attempt not to think too much about why I didn’t make myself get around to it months ago. -----signature----- we'll take our hearts outside leave our lives behind I'll watch the stars go out --dubstar "stars"
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NYCitygurl Title: Manager of SFFBC, C&G, NSWFF, and Icons Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 1/22 6:51pm Subject: RE: Or [Dear Diary 2009 challenge] Updated 1/22
	I'm really curius about who left the note. Great update! -----signature----- I agree with RJ Officially Idri's Muse "Hat. We thought of authentic Native American headdress before we thought of hat."
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Pandora26 Registered: Apr '05	Date Posted: 2/7 8:17pm Subject: RE: Or [Dear Diary 2009 challenge] Updated 1/22 - Date Edited: 3/16 2:36am (2 edits total) Edited By: Pandora26
	NYCitygurl: The note is actually inspired by a comment I received on a blog I had from someone who said they went to graduate school with me, but couldn't be arsed to sign their name. I never did find out who it was. Since this is fiction, the narrator should have better luck. Great update! Thanks! * There is still some room left on this piece of paper (I mean flimsy, with its bright, plastic smell), so I’ll see what I have to write. I’m sitting on the floor in my flat, surrounded by packed, and alas, and very sadly, only half packed boxes. Yes, I’m moving into another flat, and not the first one I went to see, in three days. I keep putting stuff, including endless music discs, and holobooks, and clothing I oughtn’t to have bought, into boxes, and there’s still more. And I haven’t found anyone to help me move my furniture, especially the bed, with the antique frame from my great-aunt, and the very new mattress. It is a bed, I feel obligated, and petty, enough to mention. I was reading, out of boredom, a story set on an imaginary planet in the unknown, and fierce! and mysterious! regions, where apparently they refer to beds as sleeping platforms. Either that, or the author thought it would be more exotic if they did. Obviously, I believe in calling a bed a bed. Anyway, my whole flat feels odd. I don’t know how to describe it, only that every place I’ve lived in has been this way when I’m preparing to leave. It’s as though the air is already changed, already echoing and empty. I try not to think about it too much. I’ve had a music disc playing that I have only heard part of the time, but it’s enough. I had take-out for lunch, and leftovers for dinner, from an Alderaanian take out place. I’ve eaten more Alderaanian food than I have our own special local, and planet wide, delicacies. There is something else, but I don’t know how to write about it quite yet. Perhaps I’ll figure out later, or perhaps not. I will say that I haven’t received another anonymous, and annoying, note or letter at work, and yes, I had to wonder if I would. And (this next sentence has been blacked out). But I’m running out of space on this flimsy (and continue to do so with each word, and each aside), so I shall finish up, and flit, and resume all this on a new sheet. -----signature----- we'll take our hearts outside leave our lives behind I'll watch the stars go out --dubstar "stars"
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NYCitygurl Title: Manager of SFFBC, C&G, NSWFF, and Icons Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 2/13 1:29pm Subject: RE: Or [Dear Diary 2009 challenge] Updated 2/7
	The blacked-out line bit was really interesting Great update!! -----signature----- I agree with RJ Officially Idri's Muse "Hat. We thought of authentic Native American headdress before we thought of hat."
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Pandora26 Registered: Apr '05	Date Posted: 2/21 4:18pm Subject: RE: Or [Dear Diary 2009 challenge] Updated 2/7 - Date Edited: 2/28 10:17pm (5 edits total) Edited By: Pandora26
	NYCitygurl: It's probably more interesting to wonder, and not know, just what it was the narrator regretted writing enough to black out. Oh, the mystery. And I think I can say that there will be a few other edits, for similar and different reasons, in the future. * So I’ve moved, successfully and finally, into my new flat, and it’s still nice. It’s on the third storey of an old, old building that used to be a mansion. The family who owned it lost it, and everything else, when they went bankrupt (a fate worse than even death for the aristos) after it came out that one of their sons had stolen several starship designs from one of the elite families. I didn’t know that until the rental agent told me, minutes into the tour. I didn’t much care, but (well, obviously) other people do, enough for it to be a selling point. This used to be a suite for one of the eldest daughters. There is a little room near the back that can be used for a study, or a child’s bedroom. It has nice, blonde-pale wooden floors, and a window seat, but I’m sure that’s from the recent remodeling. And I know, I just know, what it was meant to be, when that rich, spoiled, and long dead girl lived here. It was the telbun’s room. Perhaps for that reason, I don’t know what I want to do with it. I haven’t even put any of the numerous unpacked boxes there. That reminds me of the reason I started writing this entry, and why I’ve bought a package of paper from that tiny, pretentious stationary store in the university quarter. I was looking through my desk at work yesterday, during another lull, and irritated after having to deal with a moon-eyed, stupid woman Ketzia usually helps when she’s not, you know, away about to give birth. I was irritated enough that, when I remembered that note, and oh, dear journal, dear paper, you know which one, I decided to get rid of it. The drawer banged when I opened it, and found and grabbed the note. I don’t know, even now, why I opened it for the last look first. Then again, I’ve never been good at resisting that sort of thing. But that was when I found the slip of paper, folded and tucked down in the crease of the envelope. It was no wonder I hadn’t seen it before. It fluttered like a moth wing as I took it out, and read the tiny print. I don’t need to get it back out to know what it said. I don’t need to write it down again here to remember it. It was only one sentence: The moon has two faces. It sounds like it could be a line taken at random from a random poem. It sounds like nonsense, but I know it’s not. It has to be one of the messages I’ve heard about, mostly in passing, or giggled whispers, from the resistance group Pallas. You know who they are. They’re worked, mostly underground, and outside history textbooks, for over two hundred years, without having caused one iota of social change around here. Most people mock them, but my father always taught me not to. I’ve heard that Senator Danu used to work with them when he started out in politics, and that says more than enough. Now, I just have to wait and see if, and how, they will contact me. Now, I can only read this message to find out what they wanted me to know. -----signature----- we'll take our hearts outside leave our lives behind I'll watch the stars go out --dubstar "stars"
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NYCitygurl Title: Manager of SFFBC, C&G, NSWFF, and Icons Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 2/28 4:17pm Subject: Or [Dear Diary 2009 challenge] Updated 2/21
	The plot thickens The line about the room belonging to the telbun was unsettling - as I'm sure it must have been to her, since her brother is one. Awesome post! -----signature----- I agree with RJ Officially Idri's Muse "Hat. We thought of authentic Native American headdress before we thought of hat."
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Pandora26 Registered: Apr '05	Date Posted: 3/11 11:46pm Subject: Or [Dear Diary 2009 challenge] Updated 2/21
	NYCitygurl: The line about the room belonging to the telbun was unsettling - as I'm sure it must have been to her, since her brother is one. Yes, it would be quite weird for her. She also knows that it's a weird feeling she can't really discuss with anyone (for the purposes of this story, most people don't like to discuss telbuns, and it's not for the reasons outsiders, or the aristocracy, would think) so it's a good thing she has her journal. The plot has begun, indeed, but that's just the tip of the lurking and cliched iceberg. -- Usually, I would have an update here, but it has been delayed by various computer troubles (insert long and dull story). I don't know when I'll have something, but it should be soon. -----signature----- we'll take our hearts outside leave our lives behind I'll watch the stars go out --dubstar "stars"
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Pandora26 Registered: Apr '05	Date Posted: 3/15 1:26pm Subject: Or [Dear Diary 2009 challenge] Updated 2/21 - Date Edited: 4/17 4:00pm (9 edits total) Edited By: Pandora26
	Many Bothans died to bring you this update. Checks off another obligatory Star Wars quote on the list. * Once again, I have nothing to do except sit at my desk, so I might as well write something. And, well, I did keep some paper here for this purpose. It should help me look too busy to help that little, brown bird matron who just came in, the one who shows up at least once a week, but still can't manage to locate a book. Andraste is at the reference desk, and she just tells people (with this pouting glare) to look it up themselves. Sometimes, I like Andraste, but today has not been one of those times. D. is nearby, talking and hahahaing with her friend. I am glad she's distracted, but it's getting hard to concentrate enough to actually write. I'll just have to get back to my secret, thrilling subjects later. Maybe I should try to finish reading this book by the end of my shift. Oh, Ketzia had her baby. She had been hoping, and wishing on a few stars, for a girl, but it's a boy. I don't know, and will never know, if she had cause to worry, but the local House has allowed her to keep him, out of the disinterest of their hearts. Andraste showed me the holoshot she brought, and he just looks like a cranky velvet-pink old woman, but then, I've never been nurturing or coo cooing maternal-- D. is coming over in my direction, so I had better hide this before she can think I'm sneaking creative time on the job. The shock, the horror. * It turns out that the message Pallas left me does come from a poem. I found it almost straight away, just by clicking through an anthology of Kuati poetry in the main collection. I knew I had it assigned for a class at university, but I didn't remember reading this poem until I saw it. It was written over twenty thousand years ago by Aina, a woman who is only remembered as a name. The moon is our own largest moon, Liin, but it's mostly a metaphor for a man. Oh, you know. He's beautiful, with space-black eyes and pale skin. He smiles as he tucks his little knife into your heart. He's cunning. He's demure. His skin feels as cold and bright as moonlight when you try to touch him. I can only wonder if Aina had any idea how many poets would imitate her. Probably not. So, it could mean that a man I know, or a man I haven't met yet, is more than he appears to be. I can guess what that means. Or that might just be too easy, and it's something else entirely. It will only seem obvious when (or if) I ever find out. * Or (as I thought last night, in a half-dream daze I'm surprised I remember well enough to write down here) sometimes a moon is merely a moon. * I'm at work again, and D. is telling the assistant director (a prim and sterling virgin who has devoted her life to committees, and that's all I'll ever write about her) about how she's far, far too busy and important, with her job, and looking after her two or is it three children, to actually read. Her voice is smug and fat, and really. She works at an archive. I'm not sure she should be bragging about that. -----signature----- we'll take our hearts outside leave our lives behind I'll watch the stars go out --dubstar "stars"
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NYCitygurl Title: Manager of SFFBC, C&G, NSWFF, and Icons Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 3/16 5:01pm Subject: Or [Dear Diary 2009 challenge] Updated 3/15
	I hope your computer troubles are over! I've had more than what I consider my fair share this school year, so I can empathize with you [iOr (as I thought last night, in a half-dream daze I'm surprised I remember well enough to write down here) sometimes a moon is merely a moon. [/i] I really like this line Great update!! I can't wait to see who this man is Maybe the brother? -----signature----- I agree with RJ Officially Idri's Muse "Hat. We thought of authentic Native American headdress before we thought of hat."
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Pandora26 Registered: Apr '05	Date Posted: 3/27 9:28pm Subject: RE: Or [Dear Diary 2009 challenge] Updated 3/27 - Date Edited: 4/17 4:04pm (7 edits total) Edited By: Pandora26
	NYCitygurl: Great update!! I can't wait to see who this man is Maybe the brother? All will be revealed in time. I can say, though, that this man (if it is a man and not just the actual moon, of course) isn't the brother. I hope your computer troubles are over! I've had more than what I consider my fair share this school year, so I can empathize with you Thanks. My computer troubles are stabilized, at least for now. (Basically, I need a new computer, but my finances do not make that possible right now.) I didn't lose any files, only a week or so of my life, so I can't complain too much. * This has not been (I write, deciding to be nice and understated for once) a good, or even bearable, week. I'm not certain I can describe it, even in this paper, or journal, or if I want to. But I'll be honest, too honest, and note that I slept as much as I could, because it was unbearable to stay awake. I didn't think, just got into bed, and rolled over in the tangled, stale-warm sheets, and fell asleep for one long, dull nap after another. Then I would get up, but I still felt as though I were in the middle of a confused, blurred dream. I don't remember any dreams I had when I was actually asleep, and that's for the best. There was one point when I thought, and almost decided, that I wouldn't write in here again, or even forever, and that would be forever. I don't know how (or why) I got past that, but somehow, through force of will, I did. After all, I'm writing this now. It's odd how easily, and suddenly, I might as well still be sixteen, and still awkward and gloomy and growling with constant, hopeless rage. It doesn't matter that seven years have passed. Nothing has changed. But I could have felt much worse, and I feel better (if not truly well) now. I make myself not take a nap after work, and especially after dinner. Yesterday, I dyed my hair blue, a dark, inksatin blue. I just wanted (and yes, needed) to look different. I know, I know what certain, long ago people would say, but I don't have to care. I've never tried, or considered this color before, but I rather like it. And if I didn't, well, it only lasts for about a month. I looked at myself in the mirror this morning, and I was white, really white, paper white, instead of just pale. But I didn't look bad, and that is what has to matter. Anyway. Now I can think again about, and finally, getting a pet. Since I live in a flat where I can actually have one. That old lady had two well-bred, rosepink, and star eyed pittens, but she didn't permit animals, that might, oh dear, oh my, shed, in her flats. I've only just started to look, but I know I want a cat, and a free bred one, a real one. Yes, that means I'm not interested in those engineered animals, the ones that are pretty, docile, and have stubs instead of actual claws. I'll leave that to people like my maternal unit and the women and boys of House Darsk. Oh, and speaking of the parent I know I wrote, some pages back, I wouldn't talk about here, she commed me last night. I don't need to say I did not tell her how I had been spending, or wasting, the last week. But she didn't decide to notice anything. She just wanted to know if I would come visit them next week, when I have four (very much paid) days off for Empire Day. It's been over six months since I went back, so I might-- But I've written enough for now. I think I shall go out (in a black dress I haven't worn for a while, and which doesn't smell like my bed) and get something to eat. I will bring the holobook I'm halfway through, and hope no one I know sees me. I might be better, or at least, wide and properly awake, but I do not feel like being nice and polite right now. -----signature----- we'll take our hearts outside leave our lives behind I'll watch the stars go out --dubstar "stars"
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