the art of packing at 3:51 am

I wouldn't be doing this had I attended my workout at scheduled this morning at the crack of dawn. If I had gotten up, rode with Sam to the torture zone, and been severly tired- I would not be up right not packing everything. I would be forcing myself to sleep again tonight. I have officially packed all items but : hair conditioner, AAA batteries, AA batteries, one jumprope, all black clothes, and all daily clothes. Everything else is ready to be loaded into the trailer and hauled almost two hours north. This is good. I am overwhelmed with the constant thought of "Wow, we are leaving in less than 48 hours."

Wonderful news: We have found a therapist. God has supplied a therapist within walking distance to the school I'm going to and she specializes in sexual trauma. This is all very good. I am scheduled to have the first appointment with her in the beginning of September. Tomorrow ,I have a follow-up eye doctor's appointment.

I am exhausted yet today was good.

Fairytales for Children (well sort of)

Is fairytale a compound? Is compound even a word? Everything today and tomorrow and yesterday is feeling the way it feels when I literally grab a place on the ceiling to stare at and chant, "this is not happening" over and over again until whatever it is that is not happening ends. So much so that when I typed tomorrow, I was thinking of yesterday and when I typed yesterday I was thinking of tomorrow. I am tired. Exhausted, frankly and I feel like I have my monologues memorized, but not worked. When I work them, they feel as if they have already been worked and worked and don't want to be worked anymore. I am thanking God for everything wonderful that is happening. I am thanking God for everything not wonderful that is happening. I thank God for both the good and the awful of wonderful, and trust us, there are both goods and awfuls of wonderful. No one is answering the telephone. No one I am calling is answering their phones. I need you to answer your phone. Are you alive? The feet hurt except they don't belong so they can't hurt, but they do. I, plural, am a contradiction. Barnes and Noble doesn't sale Old's The Gold Cell. Bah, so guess what we do? We buy Sexton, because that's more than healthy and everything. Had that dream again last night. The one we had all week in the pink bedroom. Do you understand the process of being baptized? Yes. Yes. I do. And in Target we bump into three other students, if you count Ms.Hepburn who we didn't bump into. And I think: Where is the poetry? What are we, singular, doing? At the bank the woman asked, "So what are you? A dancer? An Artist?" and you choked and said, "Oh. I'm an actress." and it feels like Latin or something foreign on the tongue near saying, "Oh. I'm Female." or "I'm Caucasian" without the capitol letters. Vivian's husband joked about Twinkle Toes and we could have laughed too. It was a wonderful time of prayer and in the end everything was said to begin with.

love, we the people

"And I will give them a heart to know me, that I am the Lord: and they shall be my people, and I will be their God: for they shall return unto me with their whole heart. "

-Jeremiah 24:7

PS: Thank you Meriluni

Donation of the Uterus (and other parts)

love, jessieh

Before 2AM. No memory.

and we almost ran that red light back there. She tapped her fingers to the music and without pause, slammed her hand, flat, into the power button of the radio, 'ya know," she laughed, "The doctor made a great point, this isn't going to be hard, well not as hard as we think.' I laugh, and know at the same time that it is not funny. "Oh, really?" I ask.

"We have so much rage. Rage is energy.Can you imagine what I could do with this rage? With this rage I could build buildings by myself, I could stay up for months. With this rage, I could burn a whole country."

love, jessieh

{PS: After she saw it she said, "I like the doggy." and I laughed, still not funny.}