Monday, December 23, 2002

I'm drinking cold tea, the bottom of the cup. I make tea in a cup that's too big; at my pace of drinking by the time I get to the bottom it's cold. I'm wearing my comfiest clothes--hoodie with no bra, Claire's Brasil pants--and I'm doing my daily futzing. Its really cold out there. It's nice in here, lit well. Food in my belly. I wonder about where old friends are right now, which is made even more confounding considering that 'right now' over there is 'right now + four hours', except it's still 'right now'. Old ties, all the dynamics of certain people to each other, the factors of music and lighting thrown in. You all know who you are, even if you're not paying attention to it. Sometimes when I walk through the village I look at people and think "You're loved, by someone". It's an interesting game. You consider each person, even if you only see them for a few minutes, seconds. He's an old man, wrinkled in his face, wearing a turban; she's six and loves her Barbie doll and her brother, in that order.

Don't let some people get in the way of loving yourself. And some things are cliche for a reason. So don't worry about it.

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