i n • p u r s u i t

The last post, for all who are curious, was just a bunch of gibberish that I found in my inbox. ---- Lately an event that shall remain unnamed has left me a bit unsettled. It has become one of those awful things (there are three) that I ponder on when I get bored. It doesn't have any significant kind of role in my life (a.k.a. nearly no role at all) but the idea has left me and my brain to turn it over an over again. Anxiety? Probably not. But the effects of this are not unlike that of anxiety. I'm doubling my trouble with my copious speculation. ----- If there's someone you can live without, then do so. And if there's someone you can just shove out, do so. You can be my Yoko Ono You can follow me wherever I go Be my, be my, be my Yoko Ono. Isn't it beautiful to see two people so much in love? Barenaked as two virgins hand in hand and hand and hand in glove. Now that I'm far away it doesn't seem to me to be such a pain. To have you hanging off my ankle like

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i am sorry that i like to look i am not as materialistic as you might think i just like to imagine i just like to dream of fun times or pretty things and if (and when!) those times or things never come i will not even notice i will not even care as long as you are with me as long as you are there

For all of you who called me PINKY . It's not pink eye, ha. It was just very irritated. --- I am a sweet-a-holic. A sweet-nothings-junkie. Mike says that I'm addicted. It's like crack. I love sweet things. Last night, after The Wilds banquet, Mike and I went to BAMM. He read TIME while I wandered and found a couple of books. But that's not really the point I was trying to get at. I found a book of love poems and was reading a few of them to Mike. ("i carry your heart" by e.e. cummings is a poem he hates...it makes him think of me carrying around a heart in a jar...ew...) And I asked him to pick one out to read to me and coincidentally enough, he picked one of my favorites: "To A Young Lady" by William Cowper Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade, Apt emblem of a virtuous maid— Silent and chaste she steals along, Far from the world's gay busy throng; With gentle yet prevailing force, Intent upon her destined course; Graceful and useful all

My eye hurts and I think I've got pink-eye. So try not to touch me. But just so you know, I'm washing my hands like there is no tomorrow. Is it safe to take care of toddlers when you have pink eye? I hope this clears up because it's gross and I miss Alex and Lauren. ♥Tiffany p.s. I'm having mint chocolate chip ice cream for breakfast

After dropping Alex off at school, Lauren and I went for a little walkies around the neighborhood, up and down those hills. I was pretty warm when we got back, so I opened up windows around the house. Unfortunately, some of these windows were without screens and I guess a few bugs flew in! One bit me on my arm. So now the windows sans -screens are closed. And my arm itches.

I have written many poems. All for you. And I have found them wholly insufficient. There is no possibility of truly conveying the feelings in my heart through this pen and paper. I love you, you know. I love you, I love you, I love you.

I've updated my other blog, Not Really An Artist, with new poetry. I always read my poems to Michael to get his approval before writing anything in my blog. He likes my writing and says that my poetry is philosophical. Wow, that's kind of cool! I don't really think of myself as philosophical. Once, I head a musican say, "Don't ever date a songwriter or you'll end up in lyrics!" Well, the same may be said for poets. Many people in my life end up in my poems. I know that I have ended up in some of my sister's poetry. The worst, is when I write when I am very tired. My perception is skewed and my emotions are haywire (read: cranky and irritable!) and I've written a poem or two about a special someone at that time (not good poems, I was upset!) only to read it the next day and want to tear it up! My diary too! I'll be all angry and irrational (because I'm sleep deprived and I've blown something out of proportion) and I'll write a dia

When we walk by the water Just us two, The river flows rapidly, The brook babbles freely. Then, we are joined by another And the flow stops. My riverbed is dry. Or, if I am very lucky, It becomes a forced trickle. I compare my small trickle To the newcomer's gushing waterfall And I feel obsolete, incomplete, But mostly sad.

Open and shut Open and shut So many words Forcing their way Out of his mouth And into my head Enthusiasm Complemented with gestures Mean nothing to me I open my book And tuen him out

You may be afraid that tomorrow won't come. But if you are afraid , why are you waiting? Today is today. Do not focus on that which may be , for tomorrow may not. And if it does not, you still have today.

Tumbling and crashing Into this blissful estate Fumbling and grasping To not let it escape But nothing lasts forever And somethings cannot be So release your grip And set this free The time is not now.