Today, while digging through the stocks of my parents' basement for my 'good shoes' (a term popular among mothers whose children own a menagerie of dirtied, crusty sneakers and but a single pair of clean dress shoes, often locked up in the basement as mine are so as to not be tainted by my touch), I managed to miss a step on the staircase and ended up with my knee wedged between two steps. A comical situation, really, and embarassing, so I squeezed out as fast I could, with two new peculiar injuries: a large grey bump on my shin, and a strange hill protuding from my opposite foot's big toe.

I wandered around the house with a gate like that of a duck, and now that my mum diagnosed it as either a sprained or broken toe (and just an icky bruise), I'm worrying about how I'll live out the healing process. My good shoes are still an essential part of my outfit to my cousin's graduation. No doubt that will be hell. I have a beep test tomorrow in P.E., which will be the equivilant of suicide, really. And then there is California, the magnetic state that's been calling to me all month. The trip there was going to be free, frollicking fun across the Rockies, the deserts and the beaches. Now it's going to consist of limping in and out of the car, bitching the whole way. Less appealing.

I'm sorry to have left my modest e-hideaway so barren for so long, but this romance concept has a way of fogging up a young girl's mind. I'm back and intend to keep the place stocked a little more often, just as a sanity-maintaining sort of ritual. Writing has always served as a nice little temporary escape, and writing about my life provides both refuge and a small dose of this 'reality' I am so prone to ignoring.

So far a total of 2 people have been told about my converting to Silentology, and neither one of them the most involved creatures in my life. But if they choose not to comment (or even not to read) that's alright, since this is just as much for me as it is for them.

I am so close to love that it's maddening to think about it, but even worse to disregard it. My friend is stumbling down the same road, too, a few messy steps behind. Emotions are intoxicating.