10:23 a.m - Wednesday, Feb. 05, 2003
Song:
There�s got to be more here, because all the stories I�ve faced lately are the same. Women are depressed, they suffer and someday they�ll die to their own relief.
Now videos that try to claim that country life is superior to citys. Then why with all the beauty I do see in the country, co I cry and long for the city.
Now, more than ever, I do realize that very few things make up who I am. Photos, writing, a need to travel. Chris. Only.
Now I listen to an author claim that she doesn�t put real people in her books. I don�t see how that can be. I take small pieces of peoples personalities. This is how you make them real. Individuals.
Everyone�s different, individual, and just so. Whether people believe it, or want to be it or not.
My characters. I wish they could pass the inspection. The narrow, critical eye of myself. Words in the notebooks, neat letters and a tiny sharp lined handwriting. An adaptation to the need to write quickly and readable.
I cannot find the strength for this all. And suddenly I think- �I�m glad I�m not pregnant.� Not having a possibility or a relevance to my life, I still welcome not having the stress I�ve never had. Babyless.
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