tangible assets
exposed breasts
insertion required
hydrolic pandemonium
de-exhileration
action completed

My feet our cold. Morning are so difficult when it's cold and our covers are so soft and warm. But then if we stay in bed there is regret. Regret for all that wasted time when we needed to clean our rooms, write our blog, shower, eat. Regret as we rush through a morning in frantic motion only to watch our train wiz thoughtlessly by.

Thought of the day will probably ensue as such:
- try to find a a train door with a few people as possible so I can find a group of empty seats
- why do they always sit next to me, is it because I am thin
- I hate the LIRR, they pack us in like animals.
- I hate the people who ride it everyday and complacently pay their fee without ever thinking how the service doesn't match the price.
-I hate the fact that the LIRR has become a monopoly and the only people that profit are a few selfish executives who hoard the money, never reinvesting back into the company as they would have to, if it were not a monopoly.
-I hate the way people don't realize that these same executives would never use the LIRR that they know full well is outdate, garbage. Smaller less wealthy countries have better transportation. France has a train that's average spead is 140 miles per hour.
- I hate the way our ancestors fought for a revolution so they could representation in their governement and how we accept unfairness and abuse without ever protesting.
- I hate idle complacency. Our immediate comfort over the greater good.
- I hate the way we have become a push button culture, that always chooses the easiest road never questioning our actions, purchases, governement.

Quiet sunday morning at boyfriends apartment in NYC, by central park.

The substance of Sundays. Sundays have a definite quality to them. They are slightly ephereal, slightly retro, slightly mellow, perhaps even slightly yellow. You sit in an old leather armchair reading a book through out the day, lounge in a coffee shop watching people move by, sit in a bathtub studying the tile, without feeling there is somewhere you should be, something else you should do, or someone you need to talk to. There is nothing you need to change, nothing to worry about, nothing to correct. We have no needs on Sunday, no overwhelming desires, they are harmonious and create harmony within us. They are less about movement, and more about being and existing.

There are billions of people with there hands together, coming together to pray. The simultaneous communication with God exudes a shroud of peacefullness, serenity, and quiet. The late night revelers that stayed up into the twilight ours of the night before, are camatosing in deepsleep. The shops have closed there tired doors, the children are left to sleep, the cats muse at the sudden emptyness on quiet windowsills as time seeps casualy by.

The city that never sleeps, is tamed on Sunday.

It is Saturday, back at my boyfriends apartment...eating yogurt-raspberry.

Woke up late, I was involved with lots of strange dreams. My bf was peaking over my shoulder, shifted my position, he now has view of back of laptop.

I am still stuck in dream zone. I have a funny fuzzy fog like quality. Drifting reality, smushed fantasy, lopsided hopes, mulified fears, miscaluclated stress....

I am in a glass building, waves are caressing the surface like an interested lover, I move closer to look at the waves, their rythmic qualties entice me. They grow in intensity, they are violent and crashing now. It is like a chemical reaction, they are reacting to my presence. They are losing control, their is an intensity that they do not control. I leave the building. I am worried, that it will not hold up.

I am leaving the building, somebody has asked me to hold a baby. I cannot say no, she has no choice, i have no choice. Holding the baby, their is a motley and disturbing group of men, they went to harm, or scare me. I tell them to come back tommorow. I can't put down the baby. They continue, I put down the baby in shallow water, but it's head always goes down. I try to put the baby on the ground and it begins to cry fearfuly. I pick it back up.

Later I am in a city, there is snow. It coveres everything and people have made intricate snowsculptures. Their are hundreads of strange birds lined up perfectly in the grey sky, flying in unison.

My turtle must be cold, because I turn the lights off at night so that she can sleep. Still, the water becomes quiet cold without her special UV lamp.

I am cold. It is grey and uninviting outside. Still, like the turtle, I must tread on until warmer moments.

I worrry that if I don't plan my life correctly I will just be treading towards warmer moments without ever reaching them.

I worry about the fact that I don't have retirement benefits and I am not getting younger.

I worry about the fact that I should be working on my book, but instead I am blogging.

I worry that time is slipping by and perhaps I should be married, or have children or something.

But all in all, I am not so worried, I tread quietly.

I sit in my boyfriends apartment not far from Central park, waiting for the proper time to go to work. It is grey and raining, and his himalyan bell above the bed rings occassionaly when a breeze enters. He is sleeping under the bed.

We were suppose to go to St.barth for a week, leaving yesterday. However the winter winds were so strong that the planes, when they entered the island, were irregular and haphazard. We probably wouldn't be able to go swimming or snorkeling or lay on the sand doing nothing. So we pushed back the trip and now I must return to my job so I don't lose my vacation time....

It's really tough to retrograde so quickly from st.barth vacation anticipation to back to work doldrums.....and petty office clashes.....it's hard to believe that wind could keep me away from my week under the blue waters, and atop pale sand.

Less then 10 minutes to get dressed and wash up....