Sigh...what my perfect man will say to me one day:

“'Yeah, I put in a desalinator, redid rewiring, got a
satellite phone. I had to fix up the galley. You gotta
go down there and look out the starboard porthole,
you can see half water, half sky.'
...
'I love you Amy, but I can’t be here and
need you all the time.'
Amy walks away and leans on the galley hatch, looking away
from him.
'Come with me Amy and we’ll sleep under the stars, we
won’t have any distractions, we could just ...talk.. be.
Come with me.'"
--From the TV show Judging Amy, in which David asks Amy to
sail away with him.

After seeing The Longest Yard last Friday (plus my
previous experiences with Fifty First Dates and Spanglish)
I've decided that I have a celebrity crush on Adam Sandler. But
that's beside the point.

This is me, filling my mind with oh so important rabble. Maybe
because I'm starved for um...well...the more *exciting*
things in life (ehem, ehem), but I've been grousing about
love and romance and all that in my mind. There's really
not much more I'd like to share about that in this forum,
though. Perhaps I'll keep to writing things about *that*
down in my paper journal.

Do you ever think about, really think about, that fact that
maybe hopefully somewhere out there at this very instant the
person you're supposed to be with for the rest of your life, or maybe
just the person who will make you the happiest you'll
ever be for even a short period of time, is out there
living their life somewhere, right now? Right now.

What if you've already met that person, though, and passed
right by? What about then?

I found this poem scratched hapharzardly on a random piece
of paper in my cardboard box of "things I want to keep right
now because I can't bear to part with it because the memory
is too recently made and I need it to foment this memory
before I can begin trashing relics, remnants of that period
ofdefinition that made me -that- much more like the person
I will be someday" that I'm currently organizing (or, more
appropriately, discriminately throwing away). I can't
remember if I wrote it along with the other person whose
handwriting penned a stanza, or if we borrowed it from
someone famous -- if anyone has heard it before, let me
know. It feels very familiar, so I doubt it's original.
I really like its simplistic eloquence.
We (the other handwriter
and I) read it sometime during an NCCJ camp I was a
volunteer counselor at.

"You turn blue when you're sad
you turn red when you're angry
you turn pink when you stay in the sun
you turn green when you're sick
you turn black and blue when you're hit

When I'm sad, I'm black
When I'm angry, I'm black
When I stay in the sun, I'm black
When I'm sick, I'm black
When I'm hit, I'm black
And you say I'm colored?"