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date/time: / there was so much dreck that it made her weep. you see, she had got the notion of tabula rasa before it showed up on the telly, she was sixteen and a philospher-- she had thought herself brave. the words had got lost, and it simply took forever and when that happened, after another forty days and forty nights it came back as the puppy that never followed her home. maybe it was a mudpuppy. they burrow funny. well, anyways, on other matters, it's not as if you pick your family. and you can't lose them, either. she found out that for all their worry and scrabble and purchase of dross instead of the muddy things, mommy and daddy were there. they were late; they finally showed. she was altogether tired of being sorry so she wasn't. the funny marks and signs she'd made, on air, on water- all over the walls-- were altogether more than slightly embarrassing, come to think of it. she knew there were eyes that whispered underneath, the walls had senses like corn and ears and they waited, and judged, perhaps not unsympathetically although she'd probably never know the individual verdicts. it simply didn't matter all that much. she was one, she was not many. and in the end of something part of the middle being not altogether important to a host of strangers seemed to say nothing important about herself. it didn't have to, nobody made you. you made yourself.>2003-02-07 when she had got her mind back, the stuffing part into her head meant things got jumbled-altogether. some things fit funny, and they made squishy sounds with the movement. there was so much dreck that it made her weep. you see, she had got the notion of tabula rasa before it showed up on the telly, she was sixteen and a philospher-- she had thought herself brave. the words had got lost, and it simply took forever and when that happened, after another forty days and forty nights it came back as the puppy that never followed her home. maybe it was a mudpuppy. they burrow funny. well, anyways, on other matters, it's not as if you pick your family. and you can't lose them, either. she found out that for all their worry and scrabble and purchase of dross instead of the muddy things, mommy and daddy were there. they were late; they finally showed. she was altogether tired of being sorry so she wasn't. the funny marks and signs she'd made, on air, on water- all over the walls-- were altogether more than slightly embarrassing, come to think of it. she knew there were eyes that whispered underneath, the walls had senses like corn and ears and they waited, and judged, perhaps not unsympathetically although she'd probably never know the individual verdicts. it simply didn't matter all that much. she was one, she was not many. and in the end of something part of the middle being not altogether important to a host of strangers seemed to say nothing important about herself. it didn't have to, nobody made you. you made yourself. 9:58 p.m. *Yeah!

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