if she had an archetype it was the visitor. early orphanage made her this way, she thinks. cut off from patrimony, lost her closest patriarch.

this slows her down in ways that have been inconvenient, but rich with human factor.

i found it great when call girl, diaries of came out recently. google her. turns out she’s like a cancer scientist, wo.

it made me realize, congeal, the idea- when brave women must sacrifice for success, they lift the degradation to a holy crusade, escaping mostly unscathed from the slummin adventure. this is the story we want to read.

call me puss n boots, oh facebook.

changing the subject, i wish we were hanging out instead of me writing this blog to you, but i must admit i do feel you are there, so maybe we are hanging out, in the ghosttimes.

i laid in bed last night and felt alone, and then remembered how many times i’d said, i’m jealous of girls who are alone.

life is serving me and i am attending the banquet.

i look out the blackwidow into the night and see the opposite window’s occupant doing the same. an odd taste of camaraderie here in metropolis.

on the eve of my daughter’s first birthday i feel i am the one struck with apotheosis.

vibrating, searching for poise.

thanking universe for this new person in my life.