i talked to my best friend monday night amidst tears and panic about moving. i said that i didn't know why i was upset, and she said, not to my surprise, really, "it's because you've never left. you hate that town. you have since you got there. you've never liked it, crappy things have happened there, you've been trying to leave for years, and you've never left. and now you probably will." rita, earlier in the same evening, had said, "why on earth would you stay here? what's here for you?" and i couldn't come up with a what, only the occasional who, and if anyone knows that you don't have to be in the same town for a friend to stay a friend, it's me.

now, at day's end, i'm exhausted, and i'm very aware of missing stevie, of wanting to wrap my arms around her, fall asleep to the sounds of her breathing. i still feel like my time away from her is a mistake, a grueling heavy one, the kind that old men carry with them throughout their lives and impart to nursing home staff, so that those wild youth can avoid making the same mistakes. "if i had it all to do again," they'd say, because every bit of nostalgic wisdom begins this way, "i would make sure i was willing to give it all up for true love when it came my way. you don't get that many chances, so i'd make it count while i could." and they'd get that far-off look in their eyes and you'd remember movies like 'the notebook' or whatever else nicholas sparks has recently written, and you'd get teary-eyed. the point is, that's not the kind of mistake that i would want to carry with me, and that's the kind of mistake that not being with her when i feasibly can feels like it would be.

a girl, free time, and a library card...

I suppose that I could have titled this blog "one girl's love affair with the library," since that seems to be what most of my entries are about. I'm an addict; I'll admit it. But I'm slowly cutting back on the number of items that I have checked out... I'm down to 73 now, and should hit the below-70 mark by the end of the month. Since I don't really believe in returning things until I've read/watched/listened to/copied for later enjoyment them, this is a slow and arduous process that began in April when I began working at the library and checking out books every time I went in.

I still have 10 dvds out, but that's another matter. I'm working my way through watching a couple of them, and I have a long list of movies to check out as soon as the current movies are returned. I'm a cinemanic, and I'm okay with that. I love lighting and costuming and camera angles. I love complex storylines and revolutionary acting. I love finding that special something tucked away in a dvd case that reports on some concealed aspect of the human condition (and indeed, it's part of the human condition to conceal everything, isn't it?), or stopping during my day to have long chats with complete strangers about the redeeming qualities of a particular film. The camera is my element, the script, and therein I feel safe, comfortable, in a million worlds that resemble this one and yet aren't quite, though this is perhaps because I myself live in my own world of not quite, leaving on occasion to remind myself what it is that i'm happy to be without.

The books themselves are sorted into non-fiction and fiction, with those due sooner pulled forwards to indicate that they have a sort of priority. I have a sort of fear within me that I will never read all the book I've intended to read, and since my intent is to read every book, to read every thought, then perhaps this fear is justified, if not a bit pathological and bizarre. Each book has a story behind it, a special reason that I selected it, took it off of the shelf (or decided to forego shelving it at all) and brought it home. Something I meant to read in high school, when my friends recommended it. A Lewis Carroll reference in the title. A good friend's favourite book, the history of my people, a lover's insistence. Reading the books becomes consuming these stories, as well as the ones within. There is a book here for each of the people that I trust most in the world, sometimes more. Perhaps I approached the books they loved because I love them, or perhaps somehow I felt that by embracing their favourite stories, we, though apart, can embrace still.

when you're the crab climbing out of the pot, all you see are the claws below you.

there is something not right about this town.

i've known this for a while, but every once in a while, the knowledge creeps up on me again, or, rather, makes itself blatantly obvious. it's like resident evil, really, a whole town full of zombies (i know, i know, that's actually resident evil 2, but still, the point remains). we used to talk at length about denton being the hellmouth (because it IS), and it just amazes me that such a large part of the population can be so... lost.

maybe it's like this everywhere, but i'd prefer to believe that the demoralization of the youth of america exists in isolated pockets, that there are other towns or cities where the living far outnumber the undead.

there are dormitories and coffee houses that only the dead frequent; streets and shadows where the living dare not go. and yet summoning the memory of the town is more likely to leave one with the aftertaste of melancholy, rather than disgust or strong rebellion. this town is a quiet, violent place, where everyone always mourns.

it must be getting serious...

i've gone through the trouble of reserving all my favourite movies from the library so that i can take them back to the house and... watch... them. because who knows when i would want to watch them again later, and what if i didn't have an active video account and didn't have a strong public library system? well, then i'd be out of luck. they say that you can't take it with you, but i'm bound to prove them wrong. granted, i know that's not really what the adage means, but still... my heaven is a library filled with every book ever, written or no, good and bad alike, characters still very much alive forever. so it makes sense that when i'd start to think pretty seriously about leaving a place, i'd try to take as much of the library with me as possible. in my heart, of course.

because who would want to make a 2 hour car trip just to check out new things from a really great library? oh, that's right. i would.