It's shaky hand season, it's hearts in our throats time, I know how it is. My blood is making a buzzing sound as it moves through my veins, or at least it's trying to.

Late last night I finally sent an email to my father, and it took me half a year to get three sentences out. I decided that it will be okay, but is deciding enough? My family is giving me late night stomach aches, everything ever is giving me late night stomach aches. I cried in the kitchen for a couple of minutes and then got confused by the internet and signed up for GoogleTalk because Jackpot's been asking and I've been a jerk about it. I wonder some nights, if there had been twins, would I have been one of them? Am I one now, missing the other, missing someone to tell all of my secrets to? Would there have been a hand to hold onto all of those years ago when I was folded up under that desk, trying to shut my ears? It wasn't so bad, but it could have been better.

Anyway, I stayed up all night due to conflicted emotions, and yes, I know how lame that is. I was also waiting for Jackpot to show up on GoogleTalk, and we had the briefest talk about nothing, because I was by then racing the sun to my bed. But! For some reason I was reminded of that Charles Bronson story* Jackpot always brought up at any given opportunity, and it made me smile uncontrollably and laugh a bit in my head, so that was pretty great.

This afternoon/evening was spent trying to get those things out of the way, those little half projects that are bogging me down. All of these songs are so sad, and I don't know how it happened. Every song seems to mean something whether I want it to or not. If I were smarter I'd give up music altogether. I'd give it up for the good of my soul, which Sam tells me is located in my diaphragm. That's as good a place as any. That's probably why I've been sick so much this past year, it goes right from my diaphragm into my lungs.

Now I've got a bit of gluing to do while an old Lynley plays in the background. Old Lynleys are a good sort of comforting. Public broadcasting is my best friend lately. Soon I'll go to the aquarium and make friends with Ayveg, or maybe it was Ayveq. He'll never be my friend if I can't get his name right. I'll find that castle finally and see what I find at the top. I'll ride the ferry for hours until I'm nearly asleep, and then I'll have dreams that I'm lost at sea, trying hard not to be found.

*Charles Bronson grew up very poor and had several older sisters. He had to wear hand me down dresses, and after a case of head lice his parents shaved his head. Being a poor little bald boy in a dress made going to school pretty rough, so he got into fights constantly. That's what turned him into a tough guy. That I find the idea of this so funny might make me a horrible person, but I'm clinging to the possibility that it's only a crazy story that Jackpot invented. Still, I guess I've got a bit of a grudge against Charles Bronson, because my parents used to watch his movies when they were on television, and I thought they were the most boring things in the world. This was back when I was young enough that I still watched television with my parents, even if I thought what they were watching was junk. In yet more Charles Bronson news, I once made Francis a birthday card with a picture of Charles Bronson on it, and he loved it more than anything. That's it, I think, as far as Charles Bronson is concerned.