august 2, 2001. I really miss Stacy's old online journal today. I understand that she's unlikely to start it up again, as there are a lot of obstacles in her way right now. Of course, not all of the things that are preventing her from old-style online journalling are obstacles - for instance, since she gave up the journal, she's been completing scripts & stories like a madwoman. And then there's the small matter of the film she's shooting this summer. She has more than enough creative outlets in her mental walls. Still...because I'm a brat...I find myself longing for the days when a beautiful stark entry would appear every few days that often could be both obscure and perfectly understandable. The short, poignant descriptions of nights out or memories of various ages that all fit into a larger pattern that was still being designed. I miss it. And I miss her, of course, miss the real Stacy behind the artistry: the Stacy who bobs her head back and forth when you catch her eye, the Stacy who dances like a whirlwind, and the Stacy who gently chides me for eating all the green gummi fishes in her big bag of candy. When she comes back from Newfoundland next week, I somehow expect to see a series of entries about the experience, even though I know that this anticipation belongs to another Amoret in another dimension entirely. Still doesn't stop me from hoping, though. Dirk's been performing well as the designated sandwich bunny. We've had to refine the system after yesterday's late meal (1 p.m.: "uhhhh...I'm still sleeping...what time is it?"), but today went great. It's very relaxing to sit on the shady sandstone steps with Dirk, eating sandwiches and chatting about everything. It's like a distillation of our entire relationship, if you ignore the absence of frequent goth dancing. Yesterday we were talking about female health, the Industrial Revolution, Deepo-Provera and the idea of Quality Time, when Dirk observed that his entire vacation was like menstruation. And by that I mean it's a meaningful break in this frantic, clock-driven society that causes one to truly relax and refresh oneself. It's that special time, that womanly time: my Red Dollar Day Sale. Everything in my uterus must go! I'm not one to complain: at times like this I know that my womb is the center of all being and that the rest of me just sort of surrounds it like a floppy hand puppet. And thus as a puppet I sometimes have to put on some really lousy, cliched Girl Act which involves eating chocolate sorbet from the carton and boo hoo hoo crap like that. - pound He came here with all kinds of plans to continue his work projects, but soon his days became a comfortable blur of reading, drinking tea, talking, eating, short walks, and sleeping. Bethany once said "there are adventure trips, and there are relaxation trips. There are trips on which you go somewhere exotically strange and feel adrenalized and foreign and challenged, and there are trips that get your ass into the sunshine as quickly as possible and leave it there for three solid days." This is like that for Dirk, except that the sunshine has been replaced by cool night breezes and reading by the porchlight after everyone else has gone to bed. I've never been so glad to live in the middle of nowhere. this time last year: my grandmother's ring this time 3 years ago: "Oh, like I was supposed to treasure any lingering traces of you on my tongue? Please."