September 23rd, 2005

cactus

I had a nightmare like this once.

So, apparently kielle died last night.

I didn't check LJ this morning - I had an early class, and an hour to get ready doesn't leave an hour to scroll through my Friends page.

But all morning, things felt... off. I thought because my brain was stuck on "it might happen soon" until I got home and looked.

My brain is now stuck, again. Stalled.

As I was wandering around this morning, I was formulating a story in my head. It was... well, it doesn't matter. It was that kind of thing. I was writing it in my head, then in class, ignoring the lecture. Because I felt like I had to finish it, soon. Shows what I know. I even stopped on the way home, sat down in the park across from my apartment, to finish it. The whole time I felt very much like I was avoiding something, but I did finish it. It doesn't really make me feel better, but it makes me feel a tad less useless.

I really don't know what to do with this. I'm not very good at this at all, in general, but this... Kielle is responsible for the phenomenon that made me a writer, made me consider that something powerful and special. I didn't know her nearly as well as I would have liked, but if it hadn't been for her I'm pretty sure I never would have done anything worth a damn. I keep thinking about just how many people had her to thank, for that. I was one of the lucky few who sort of grew up in Subreality, or during it, anyway. If not for that, if not for Kelly, and what she did, I'd have no passion to speak of. I would not be who I am.

That's... a lot.

This is incredibly fucking unfair.

FUCK.

You'll be missed, Kielle.
reeciebastion

Puppy break.

I picked up a handful of horse chestnuts a few days ago. I always do that at the start of Fall, because they are A Sign of good things coming. When I was little it was something everybody did. Every kid in the neighbourhood collected pocketsful, and many of us kept them for months, in a stolen pantyhose, usually, under our beds or dangling from the windowsill. If they didn't rot, and we hadn't forgotten they were there, we'd usually plant them.

I put them in a bowl and put the bowl on my desk. Some of them were still in their husks (the prickly things). This morning, the last one of them was... well, look.

I will have to remember to plant that one.

And now, for the sake of our sanities, and our faith in the Universe (at least insofar as cute fuzzy things are concerned) I give you a cute dog being angsty.

That's my sister's dog. Sorry. "Rat," as the other dogs call her. Her name is Georgie. (Georgina.) Her life, as you can tell, is gruelling and tragic.

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