a and j.

my mother attracts suicidals
they follow her, flies to honey, craving
sympathy, knowing it's a disease like hunger and
needing to die like they need to eat but
hoping she can stop them.

imagine what it does to a person, long nights
spent talking down siblings, best friends,
praying for that person who looked kind of down at the gas station.
I wonder if she can spot the look now.

it's hard to sleep at night when you're wondering
whether she'll make it through the night or
whether he thinks it's worth it to get up in the morning.

my mother attracts suicidals because she has
more life and spirit in her than most,
the kind that people scoff at. the kind that lets you
appreciate rain, flowers, fifth graders,
70-year old women with blue hair.

when you're ready to risk losing it all, you admire
people that fight everyday for the best parts of it.

still in jordan.

definitive plan:

mid may - mid july -- south america tour, motocicleta-style.
mid july - mid august -- clinic in ecuador?

things sometimes just click into place. I can't wait until I get my pictures developed.


---
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you.

food for thought.

-- josh should go back to using old spice body wash, because I miss when he used to smell like this sweatshirt does.

--catherine asked me if I was involved with young life with josh. and the thing is, I'd kind of like to be, in a way, and not only because it makes him happy. I realized tonight, when I made plans to get coffee with two high school juniors and one freshman, that I like hanging out with high school girls. it makes me feel like I can offer something useful when they ask me questions, and it teaches me a lot about inhibition, and how to do away with it.

so, what does that mean? this is his thing, you know. and he loves it. and I don't know if it's fair to ask if I can come. because it can't really be every so often. it needs to be, like, weekly, or it's pointless. and not only am I afraid to commit, I'm afraid to get in on his thing.

pbbbt.

--this culture is so implicit. implicit meaning in "she misses being able to hang out alone with boys"? "I want to have sex with the taxi driver." gaah.

--paramore is so angry girl music.

--I need to learn to belly dance.

reflections from 4 in the morning just before my roommate leaves.

--T-minus 30 hours until I leave for jordan. Weird? Mhm.

--My room is lonely with nothing in it. And I'm going to be even more lonely tomorrow.

--I miss being here already. But I really wish I was going home.

--I'm excited about Jordan, too.

--I miss Josh.

--I am not really this sad and pathetic. : )

this reminds me of being catholic.

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

something that made me actually stop moving.

josh gave me a "hope this helps you get through finals" pack. it was a mix cd (with the track list written on a beach ball [deflated, por supuesto]), a pair of his sweatpants that I wear a lot, and a pack of gum. I opened the gum, and there was a note inside.

"Emily:
Hey you. I think that you should enjoy this pack of gum. Each piece has something to tell you. I like you because...
-JT"

So, basically, I melted. I don't usually account full detailed stories like this, but I've reread these like six or seven times. They give me hope about finals and they make me smile in general.

I like that you want the world to be made right again and think it can be.
I like that you save cats when they are alone, pick up trash when it is on the ground, and open your eyes to the world around.
I like that you want to do something that no one else is willing or capable of doing.
I like that you stop to pick flowers whenever and wherever you are.
i like your name... all of it.
I like that you want to know.
I like that you will fix my roommate and I a steak even though it revolts you (I mean you did get apple pie out of it...)
I like that you make me want to brush my teeth, but make me feel like I don't have to.
I like that you understand the value of giving and the scale at which it is most appreciated (peanut butter cookies and windmills).
I like that you have shaped my life (even to the point that I now write "I like" before each of these clauses).
I like that you no only know what to say, but how and when to say it.