Monday, February 3, 2003, 6:35 a.m.
So early... it takes all my willpower to keep me here in this chair. It feels like my bed is engulfed in a magnetic force, and I am an iron filing. Here's hoping to stay awake in Orgo lab today.
I think I'd train myself out of this better if I didn't enjoy staying up late so much, though... even though my head aches a little and my limbs all cry out to lie down again, I can't forget how I enjoyed talking with a certain boy so late last night.
And now, in the east, the blue-black curtain of the sky fades to pale rose, with cutout tree silhouettes against the watercolored hues, so I'm not even sure that I can regret being up this early. Almost. But not quite.
Sunday, February 16, 2003, 2:46 a.m.
Valentine's Day was the best it had been since second grade, when everyone gave the same card to everyone else and the candy was plentiful and nobody had even begun to think about romance. In the interim years, February 14 became a lesson in disappointment. I watched the beautiful people walk around with heart-shaped balloons and flowers from the significant others that I didn't have, and tried to ignore the daydreams of discovering a rose taped to my locker from that special someone.
But Friday was wonderful, and not just because of the boy who asks me sometimes, sweet and shy as an old-fashioned card, "Will you be my Valentine?" This Valentine's Day instead somehow managed to capture what I feel should be the true spirit - not the "tyranny of coupledom," as Sasha Cagen called it, but love in its various forms. I spent wonderful time alone with Hollis being cutesy, and just as wonderful time with some of the awesome people in my life. At times recently I've been so focused on the small number of people whom I do not particularly care for that I'd almost forgotten how many great people I know. We ate chocolate; we shared a little rum-and-creme-soda; we laughed and talked until we were all falling asleep on my rug. Friends are so good.
Tomorrow, if I am not insane with work, I will write about Philadelphia. Now, I'll curl up with my stuffed moose and drift to sleep in my warm bubble of blankets and love.
Monday, February 17, 2003, 6:55 a.m.
Snow drifting on the sidewalk makes me feel cold already. My tree, frosted with mounds of dripping icing last night when I fell asleep, is mostly bare again now, and sways in the wind. It will be a long cold walk to Organic Chem this morning.
Pancakes wait for the griddle downstairs, and muffins for the oven. I know that when I begin to cook, my brain will start to click on, but now my bed is giving me come-hither eyes, trying to draw me back into its warm embrace. Oh, sweet temptress, I want you too...
Just call me angel of the morning
All heaven and hell hath no sorrow like a bed scorned...
Copyright Elizabeth McDonald 2003