Oh, moonlets! The fact that I went all of this time not knowing that moonlets existed is a little bit shocking, but I'll get over it. And due to the fact that Francis is easily bored and has a weakness for free snacks, we get to stay friends. So, that's good. We spent the morning concluding that Michael and the Egg are practically girls anyway, and that there is no escaping the Allagher. Oh, it's going to be the same thing all over again. I can't take all of that all over again, but I will.

Tonight we're going to some weird place that I think Bees may have imagined, but maybe when we get there we'll find it's real. I don't feel at all like going, but I am the gossip these days, or part of it anyway, and I'd rather be there to speak for myself. There is the way I don't know how to not answer questions once I'm asked. I have a natural gift for guiding conversations so that the questions never come up. I don't even try, it's just the same sort of habit as reaching back to catch the stairwell door to keep it from slamming, or maybe it's more like the way I can usually time subway trips to places I've never been without even really thinking about it. Sometimes someone gets to a question anyway, and I think my honesty can be startling, so they sort of keep me pinned there, question after question. What else is there to do when someone who never tells you anything is suddenly telling you everything? I can see it in the way people look at me when it gets that way, like maybe they've never seen me before. So.

There's something wrong about knowing from the start of something that it's only going to end up hurting, and quite a lot, most likely. And then going ahead and doing it anyway. You know how sometimes your skin will feel pretty normal until something brushes against it, and then there's a strange sharpness and you realize you've gone sensitive all over, and it feels sort of helpless, but you don't think you want it to stop? I feel that way now, only it isn't my skin, just everything else. When he sings, "Foolish, I was always foolish...," I wonder whether he's getting the words right, but the way his voice cracks and his eyes drift, that's just how I feel. My heart is broken in advance and building up to it at the same time, just like the loop of Jameso's guitar.

I think I'd generally be a lot happier if I knew that there were groups of people all over the world just listing and numbering everything, every tree from one to forever, ever pair of star-shaped sunglasses. Everything accounted for.