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**Author's Note: I decided to give the tape recorder a break and post a couple of my hand writings. These are written in my personal notebook. . . maybe, someday, if I ever get enough money for a scanner, I'll scan the actual writings so that you may read the originals, but that day isn't today. It's odd for me to write anymore. There's none of the old things I used to scribble about left. I think I'm becoming scared. The effect I've had on people is being shown to me. It's hard to have the desire to interact with other living beings when you fear what you are, who you are and the effect it will cause. When people decide that I'm worth their time, that I have something to offer the world, it's too much. I don't understand what happens to me, but I change. It's as if I push away the acceptance and understanding that I'd been searching for, for so long. That in itself ought to be enough for me to stop doing that. The understanding of myself, knowing how I work, that ought to be enough. but somehow, it's not. I don't know how to change myself, how am I supposed to change the world? I always had plans of changing the world. I always had plans of doing that; changing the world, making it my own. It all seems trivial now. I'm at the dawn of something new, and it doesn't change the way I feel. Maybe when the sun comes up on my plans, I will more like I belong. And this time, maybe I won't push it all to the side, I won't let it slip away from me. maybe I won't let myself go in the process.
Rachel being out of my life hasn't bothered me all that much. But every once in a while, when the daytime sky begins to slip into night, and there's a light cloud cover with a gentle breeze, and I'm standing outside, alone, with my cigarette, I think about her. I think about seeing her smile again, seeing her when she drifts into her own little world (the same one I always wanted to see), hearing her call me a crakhead (or using any of my words and phrases for that matter), watching her arm that would never stay at her side. But most of all, I miss the comfort she gave me. That feeling that no one else could possibly matter as long as I was in her favor. I miss that, more than anything. But I know it's too late to remember that and become misty eyed again. God, I can only hope something can take this away. -one love.
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