May 12, 2002

I was attending Catholic mass at St. Hugh's parish, in Carmichales, PA on a warm Saturday evening - the evening before I was to move into my dorm in Pittsburgh. I chose to sit in the 6th or 7th pew from the back of the Church, as I do every Saturday evening. Nothing was particularly special about that pew, the pew I was occupying; but, the pew behind me was quite special indeed.

I had seen the girl before, in that very same Church, sitting direcly behind me, only weeks before (and probably other times as well). I did not know the girl, yet I often do not know those about whom I dream. The first time I recall noticing her was earlier this year, in that same pew, wearing a light green shirt, and perhaps wearing tan pants. At any rate, when I saw her today, sitting behind me and to the left, she had on a deep pink shirt, dark blue pants, and I seem to remember a brown purse draped over her shoulder. Her wavy hair, a light shade of brown, was pulled back, and she was alone - just as she was the time before.

After I noticed her, my stomach began to fill with knots and butterflies. Who is this girl? She sure is nice looking. Would she talk to me? I've seen her more than once, is it okay to say hello? When could I say something to her, while in a Church? I then felt that, as I thought of these things, I was being condemned to hell. Of course, I should not think about talking to a girl - in Church! A Church girl, to boot! It's the second time this has happened to me.

As mass progressed, I kept my mind on other things - books, stories, even the sermon - but I had to not think about the girl. Almost time for communion. I can make it. No! It's time to shake hands, and wish peace to everyone! Is this my chance? I go to Church alone, so I generally have no one with whom to shake hands - it was the perfect opprotunity. The elderly people to my left were busy shaking and kissing, and I had no one to my right; no one to the front. There was just the girl. Everything else faded out, and it was me, the Church girl, and a distance of about 5 feet between us. Time slowed, I turned 90 degrees to my left, and looked in her eyes. I saw her eyes. I was too nervous to remember anything contextual, like the color of her eys, but I believe they might have been hazel. I gazed into her eyes, and it seemed she was begining to extend her hand. I could touch her! My heart fluttered. My hand jerked...

...it jerked in the wrong direction, and I turned around to face the front of the Church.

I could not do it. I could not reach out to shake this girl's hand. It was as if I was stuck outside of a great Faraday cage, and could not extend myself further than a few inches. I did not shake her hand. I was a coward.

"The mass is ended; go in peace."

And so we did. I made to exit on the left of the pew, as I anticipated she would do the same (she was sitting at the end of her pew). She did no such thing! She was running from me! Sigh. I exited the building, but I watched her as I walked, until she was out of my sight. When I was outside of the Church, I saw her coming out of the side door. One last look at the Church girl.

I climbed in my vehicle, and pulled out of the parking lot. I drove a few blocks to the gas station, and filled up the tank. Tomorrow is Mother's Day. I need to buy Mommy something. Flowers! Not only does she like them, but they are easy to buy, they smell nice, and they look attractive. I would simply stop at the Giant Eagle on the way home.

The Giant Eagle is a few miles North of the Church, on the way to my house. I parked my car in the lot, got out, locked the doors, and headed towards the entryway.

I walk into the store.

I see her.

She is buying flowers, presumably for her Mother, too.

Joy!

Terror!

A second chance to introduce myself - but how? OH NO! If I would have shaken her hand in Church, I could have EASILY introduced myself to her now! WHY? WHY DID I CHOOSE NOT TO SHAKE HER HAND?

I felt the angst of the situation, yet, there was still a chance. I could say "Hey, I saw you in Church a few times" and make a stalker of myself, or, I could wait for her to say something. She had to of seen me. She must have!

I picked up a bouquet of carnations, and to stall time I searched around for more flowers. I ended up purchasing half the flowers in the store. Oh! She was no where to be seen! I'll check out.

I headed to the checkout line - the one in the flowers/crafts area. Unfortunately, I was waited on immeadiately. Drat! I can't stand here and wait forever. No! There she is! She walked out from behind an aisle, and sauntered off into the flowers. She was carrying a bouquet, similar to the one I was purchasing.

She disappeared. She was moving so quickly. Was she as nervous as I? Why was I nervous?

I signed for the purchase, and picked up my mass of flowers, and made for the exit.

She was gone.

I was leaving.

I got into my car, and made for home. I looked at the store as I was pulling out, half expecting her to run out of the doors, chasing after me, wanting to introduce herself.

It didn't happen.

During the short ride home, I tried to justify my cowardice by telling myself that she is probably in a relationship already, or, perhaps she did not even see me. I needed a way to rationalize my inaction.

As I write this, just as I thought as I was crossing the bridge to get to my home, I thought to myself:

I should have shaken her hand.

Somewhere inside me, there is fear.

It does not consume me; it does not remember how. I fight it off with the weapons I have at my disposal, and I can hold at back, for the moment. It is there, but I will not look away from it, I will not turn my back.

At some point, I became too weak to carry my armour with me. I left it to be bleached by the sun, and continued on. Now, however, I am finding that the air on my skin is a feeling unknown to me, and it is both alien and comforting.

I do not understand what to make of this, only that if I can allow myself to stay where I am, I will soon learn more than I have ever known.

In the past when I've asked in the Chatterbox about noding recipes I've been told that there is less worth in noding recipes I got from a book or the Net compared to recipes I made myself. On such occasions I am often given sensei as an example of someone who posts excellent recipe nodes (see Another Metanode of Recipes and Other Food Associated Topics by sensei). Those well-meaning advisors assure me that sensei's recipes are far removed from those simply copied out of books.

I accepted this. Until today.

I read sensei's informative node on seitan. I wanted to see a picture of this crazy stuff. So I did a Google search and discovered something horrific -- sensei's receipe is plagiarised from:

Nussinow, Jill. "Seitan -- The Vegetarian White Meat." The Vegetarian Journal. March/April, 1996.

(See for yourself: http://www.vrg.org/recipes/vjseitan.htm)

So why am I Daylogging this? It's not that I want to criticise sensei, I find his cooking nodes very interesting. Perhaps as a warning that even the greatest can make mistakes and we must be constantly wary of plagiarism. More likely it's just something I don't see very often and I need to document it so I'll remember it tomorrow morning. :)

Well, I'm back. Truth be told I've been back for a week or so, trying to ease myself slowly into the whole e2 routine again, with some success. I feel a bit rusty, out of sorts, and more than a little detached. I needed Cletus to kick me out of it and give me something decent to write about. Coming back was a strange experience, especially not knowing what my reception was going to be like. I mean, I opened my Inbox and found 99 messages of support, and a bunch of Cool notifications, and loads of XP given me during my absence.

It was odd, but really touching. I have since sent replies to all of them, which took the better part of ten days, and been seeing which of my nodes got pruned. Quite a few as it happens, a lot of stuff surrounding the wake of Sept 11th got hit, and killed. I only wish I had been around to defend it, but that's life I suppose. I don't know whether I'll rewrite it, or it's equivalent yet, but I will think about it seriously. I was also touched quite deeply by Amnesiac's leaving in protest which I found out yesterday was prompted by my exile. I wrote back to him yesterday and asked him to return. I have yet to check my mail today and see if he will.

Today is 7 days after my 24th birthday (5th May) and 4 days before the birthday of the first girl I ever fell in love with, whose name is Anya.

Anyways, enough rambling. I'd better go. Take care all.

J

Today is Mother's Day 2002. Have a great day all moms out there. For all you non-mothers, treat your mom great and do something nice for her.

No, you can't cheat through me.

I'm sorry that your boyfriend is a dumb drunken jerk, but that's yours and his problem, not mine. I'd be willing to go out with you if you would only get yourself out of the abusive relationship you're in right now.

You can't get out of the relationship? Why? Oh, you love him... I see, but I can't see it reciprocated back to you. Even the rest of your friends can't see that. They too don't understand why you stay with him.

Why do you do this to yourself?! The feminist revolution happened a long time ago, or did it's affects somehow pass you up? Why are you being so spineless? Why do you insist on going out with that chauvinist pig?

But he'll change? That's what you said about your last boyfriend, and the boyfriend before that. They were all the same, and they all ended up the same. What makes you think that this one will be any different?

Ah, but you're the persistent type, aren't you? I never said to abandon him completely, just to not be in the relationship you're in with him any more. Of course he needs help, and I'd be glad to lend it myself, but you don't need to be his girlfriend to help him.

Please, though, whatever you do, stop being in this abusive relationship. I hate seeing you like this. I have stayed up many nights wondering whether you'd be alright in the morning and I need my sleep.

Well, today is Mother's Day. First off, I would like to wish everyone a nice Mother's Day. Among other things, I got my Mom some nice balloons, a card, and made her breakfast.

But still, I'm not enjoying today. Why? I guess because the senioritis hasn't kicked in yet. Being a senior in high school, I'm supposed to be slacking in school, and not doing anything. But this is AP (Advanced Placement) Week. While my friends are enjoying their senior year, I am studying for these damn tests.

Well, I've stopped somewhat, seeing as how I am writing this. Plus, occasionally, I've stopped to watch the NBA Playoffs. Speaking of which, it's still on, and I gotta go and watch it.

For all of you in high school, and taking AP Tests, good luck. Also, everyone, have a happy Mother's Day.

Today at work, faced with the choice of either organizing Pokémon cards or trying to read on the sly while working checkout (BIG no-no), I turned to a third option. I found some blank paper and began writing my seventh novel.

On May 25, 2001, I wrote the final chapter of my sixth novel, which was fourth in a series. I recently realized it has been a damn long time since I wrote anything for that series, and since I rabidly enjoy it and had been intending to eventually write a Book 5, I began. Today. Unexpectedly.

Not a very good idea. The steady stream of customers (how dare they!) interrupted my thoughts, but worse yet was the strange euphoria filling me up from the inside. Don't get me wrong; usually the writer-euphoria is GOOD. I've enjoyed it many times in the past. But if I'm at work, it generally isn't acceptable to bounce around and glow behind the checkout counter. I did my best to contain my aura of "Holy shit." I was not very successful.

Five pages.

I wrote five pages before the end of the workday, that's it. It was in tiny writing, but only five pages totally turned my day on its ear. Suddenly it was lunch break time. Suddenly break was over. I got back up there, rang up more customers, wrote some more. And when someone came to relieve me, I honestly didn't know why. I thought they wanted me to go work in another section, when in fact it was time to count the drawer and go home!

While waiting for a credit card transaction to go through, I doodled a picture of the main character of the story at the top of the page. She's in a little picture frame, grinning madly and giving the little "peace/victory" sign, with a talk-bubble saying "I'm back!"

She's back all right.

Ivy is back in a big way. And I hope I live through this book.

It is my daughter's birthday on the 16th. She will be 4. So much has happened in these short years. My heart aches to bursting when I think of her and my son.

They teach me patience.
They teach me unconditional love.
They teach me to be brave.
They teach me that life is such a miracle.
They teach me to care more and worry less.
They teach me that heaven on earth is possible
and that angels do exist.
They teach me that there are never enough answers to the question "why?"
And they teach me to look at things through innocent eyes
And they teach me so many things
And I learn and learn.
With every hug, every tear, every little gift they give,
I learn.

Happy Mother's Day, my darling babies. This day was just another day for me, until I had you. So thanks.

I logged on to Everything2 now, with the intent to write something personal, of no other reason than that I'm very happy these days... But I changed my mind. Even if it is just happy nice stuff, who knows if it will last? I don't want to leave anything here that may be invalid in a few months.

Because I never remember to update my submissions. (Gasp!)

(Happy mother's day, mom.)

A bottle of excedrin, a box of cold pills, and a broken heart. A pocketknife, a few final words on a microchip.

My final "fuck you, God" ended with a spiteful "think again" from Him.

Instead, I threw up. Over and over and over again. Then an instant message, a trip to the hospital, five day stay.

I'm still learning.