I have no longer been using this as a place to rant about all of society's ills and the collapse of everything we know and feminism. I keep whining. But how can I not?
There is a gross condom on my night stand. It's in its tiny plastic package tucked under a book or something. Why it is still in my possession is puzzling to me too, and why I haven't thrown it out is also a question I have yet to answer. But it made me think of something that happened at my old high school. My cousin is a freshman this year. He is a polite, respectful kid with a fantastic sense of adventure. Two kids in his class were caught having sex in the locker room. They taped it, took photos, and through the miracle of technology, forwarded it to all of their friends via cell phone. It makes me sick. I actually felt my stomach churn last night when my mother told me about it. My aunt had the good sense to block him from receiving pictures or video when he first got his phone. He is not suspended. But those kids don't realize how unprepared they were for that. I'm not prepared for something like that. That shit happens everywhere, I just forget that it does.

"Any meaning is better than none. Ask any catholic, or Methodist or Hutterite or Hmong. You believe in a god, who, in his exquisite loneliness, created the universe and little you. Or you believe that we, in our terrifying loneliness, created god. Doesn't matter which. Ask any Vietnamese child kneeling in the mud, praying, chocking on her tears, feeling the hot muzzle of an m16 at the nape of her neck, hearing the screams of her grandparents, inhaling the sting of smoke and cordite, knowing that the soldier behind you, dear, is going to make his own meaning by firing a burst of bullets through your head. At that moment there is no arrow of time for you, there is no there, no then. There is only singularity, this Planck instant, this big bang, At that moment you are borrowing energy against time and shaping your brief life into a quantum of meaning."

I hope that with age I can become more like my mother in spirit. She is wise, and kooky, and free in voice. Years ago my friends and I put some plastic furby toys from a dumpster into my mother's garden. Yesterday I picked a fallen miniature toy up and set it right side out. "I can't believe these are still here." I say. "We have a furby infestation." she points out. We go to big land and walk through the store, she kicking misplaced and abandoned things out of her way, making faces at people who cut her off. 'Watch out! Vicky is here!' My mother sends me text messages just saying, simply, "I love you." because she does and she knows I need it. If I'm sad and we can only communicate my phone, she tells me to get a friend to give me a hug, because she wants to but can't. I have come to realize over the past month that I live, continuously, for my mother. There is a scrolling list in my head at all the reasons a person may no longer wish to use up this planet's stale air. And my top reason on list two is my mother. She has lost a sister and her baby in a car accident, a mother to mystery lungs, and a grandmother to age. Along with the others who come and go. She has given up a kidney to an adopted second cousin, given up art classes for her daughter's art school. She is a strong presence in the face of grief, a gentle friend for quiet days, and an outrageous lady with tons of energy, creativity, and laughter. I will go on as strongly as I can if for no other reason then my mother.

Everyone has ditched me so i go quietly into Ryan's apartment one last time to use the computer. I have baked banana bread, cleaned my ceiling fan, taken a walk, and I still feel restless. I need to hang out with someone who will make me feel valued. That's not a hard thing to do for a friend is it?
I start my new job Tuesday. I am excited to be in a place that suits me. Meeting new people, potential friends. And to feel useful again.