Leaving is better than staying if you know you're miserable where you are. Staying out of cowardice is no good. Fear that there's nothing better is cowardice. Seek improvement for yourself. It's not as if you were leaving so much behind anyway.

I am at work, a student is explaining exactly why this isn't working and I want to tell him I know exactly what he means. They aren't going to help him. He wants to like what he's learning. I don't think that should be so hard. Have to remember why movement is nessesary and it will keep me looking for possiblity of something better. There aren't easy answers just possiblity and the choices we make.

mypetskeleton.com This website is the online portfolio of visual artist Vincent Marcone. The abiance created by the visuals and soundtrack is intriguing spooky. I found it last year and it reminded me of when I first started wandering around the internet and how exciting and interesting, nearly magical it seemed at first. Even before I saw Marcone’s artwork his site’s styles and intuitive ease had impressed me. Also his artwork’s detail and intensity is entirely captivating. bartleby.com This website is a pretty decent collection of classic texts (literature, poetry, reference). It has been very useful to me in allowing me to access texts like Gray's Anatomy and selected Hans Christian Anderson tales as well as versatile Oxford Anthologies. It doesn't have everything but it has more than enough to be of use. altx.com/thebody/ This site is Shelley Jackson's collection of short written pieces on her memories and relationship with her body. It is often touching and sometimes darkly amusing. It entertains me when I have time to wander.

"'God knows, lady,' said Owein, 'it can no more be opened to thee from here than thou canst deliver me from there.' 'God knows,' said the maiden, ''twere great pity thou mightst not be delivered. And it were only right for a woman to do thee a good turn. God knows I never saw a better young man for a woman than thou. Hadst thou a woman friend, best of woman's friends wouldst thou be. And so,' said she, 'what deliverance I can for thee, that I will do.'" -from 'The Lady of the Fountain' in the Mabinogion

Blood Sonnets

The droplets of blood have welled again-- bursts of veined pink blossoms suspended invisibly against necessarily porcelain white-- for this sight a sigh is permissible, the aesthetic moment an oasis amidst the usual anticipation, then gore. This is assurance that only I dwell here, that 'we' still means two of us, not three, that your ample palm cradling my belly as if it were a vessel contents precious, is instead prizing of the whole, of only myself, not what I carry within. But watching the webbing of red spread and change I want to freeze the beauty and claim it. Waking I feel the pooling above my pelvis, an internal puddling of blood, a vaguely nauseating fullness, reason to move slowly, fearing waves, splashing--though not to the sheets this morning. As if living a war since childhood I have learned tricks against my own bloody stains: a bar of white soap and my own spit the mixture rubbed into the cloth pushing out globules of life-stained mucus red of a fresh wound, baby shit brown, and wet charcoal black; the compound reeking of too-natural salt, of our very pulse made gruesome only in parting from the whole.

Found a box of nail polishes from junior high this morning. I remember picking colors that were good for day dreaming in class. Dark blue for the ocean, lighter for blue skies, pale nearly white blue for clouds. A deep violet or green for changes and secrets. Sparkly things to put on my toes when I was teaching preschoolers' level one, to give them an incentive to put their faces in the water and open their eyes. It worked too. I remember sleepovers. How many times can Fifth Element be seen before it stops seeming so damn good? Painting each other's nails. M chose purples and blues. K, princessy pinks, or reds that implied things we didn't know a damn thing about. Fluffy choosing blue, green, purple, sparkles. Later Smack, I can't remember what she chose, maybe she didn't. I remember when M grew away when she and James were dating. The shock of sex and people we knew. I remember when some boy asked me to varify a rumor and I told him it was none of his buisness and to fuck off. He looked so shocked. I never swore then. If he'd pressed it I thought I would hit him and I think he knew it. I never told M about it, she would have been just as indignet that anyone thought they had a right to ask, or maybe she would have just said, 'yeah. so?' I wonder how she's doing these days. M and I used to tell each other dirty jokes in 5th & 6th when we were at different elementries and had sources besides each other. They didn't mean anything it was just the pleasure of the forbidden, talking about thing we weren't supposed to talk about, or know about, not that we did really. I hope she is well. I painted my nails today. Green on my toes and a fleshy metallic pink on my fingers. Glad that nail polish remover is still under the sink.