9-6-01: filming and yearbook and obligations to friends, family, and country not to mention school with homework and grades and the heat and cross-country and 'getting exercise' and writing and eating and sleeping and talking and sitting outside in my favorite season (which is fall) wrapped in one's warm Syracuse University sweatshirt reading 'The Little Prince' by Antoine De Saint-Exupery. i need to sit outside more. or else just drive up to fucking new york. one of these days i'm just going to go. how beautiful would that be...
" ... And the roses were very much embarassed. "You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you-- the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose. "
but i don't even know how you got off the track
