My Cup is Being Filled.

Life here (in terms of time, not physical place) is daunting, delicate, full of dirt and grit and wry passed smiles. God, I don't even feel like I belong here, but then I brew my tea and say 'kalinichta' and wriggle between writhing masses. The brown crowd of dirt and dust. I belong, temporal, surviving and surging. Blood pulsing.

And here's why:

Running into the sweetest person (my 10 year old cousin) you will ever meet on the trolley in the morning before class:



In my Phil 100 class:



One of my best friends - this photo was taken just after he whispered, "Norma, I'm glad you exist. Thank God you exist.":


If there is one thing that I appreciate with all my heart, it is altitude.
It is altitude for its earthly visions and backgrounds and being so high in the world that I can feel myself mist and melt and really become part of it.

Hence the rooftops:

Ben Berger, misting and melting right along with me:

And if you ever needed to know, this is who I am:

It is quite difficult to type on a hyper mind and tired body, I'm shaking, shaping and shifting. Take it from your fair-weather friend, fumbling with these wacky words. Oh they can mean so many different things.

Summer courage, weak words... this is all I have!