From Diane Setterfield's The Thirteenth Tale

People disappear when they die. Their voices, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living mempry of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continut to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humour, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.

--Diane Setterfield



Thursday, August 21, 2008

I'm such not that kind of rebel

Today we find out what "flavor" we are having. 9:30 is the appointment. We'll be there.

However... I had agreed to give Tara a ride to work this morning. She called a little before 8 for whatever reason and it's a good thing she did. I was still sleeping when the alarm went off and it sounded all wrong. It sounded more like my phone than the bedside alarm... it was. So when Tara was ready, I went to pick her up and take her to work. I left the house in my grubby sweats and the only t-shirt that I have kept long enough to actually get holes in it.

I totally got butterflies in my tummy leaving the house at the time appointed for being dressed and ready for work. I was NOT dressed and ready for work. But I was still going to work (in a manner of speaking). I felt like I was cheating the system. Like when we'd run accross the street to have lunch at Kourtney's house, even though our high school did not allow off campus lunches. OooOOoo! What a rebel!
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