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



Wednesday, March 10, 2010

a post without pictures

since the pictures don't seem to work anyways.

I have made a bag.
It is big and I did a drun good job.
Thanks to Christy who made a bear for Jaedyn and got me started thinking about making something... sewing something.

I had no idea that the people I associated with in elementary school up through high school would be such an infulence in my life. I still can't spell very well, but when I think about it I remember doing spelling words with Amanda's mom (and cheating terribly). And random friends have been visiting my dreams lately. Chase, wherever you are, I dreamed about you the other night. It stinks that I've fallen out of touch with so many of the really super and highly infulencial people. I guess it's my own fault. I also wonder if I would have more ammo in my friends to think about arsenol if I had more collage or something. I think maybe... So many things I could have done differently. I live in so many regrets that I can't enjoy the moment and spiral into regretting the moment that I'm not enjoying. Help! (but that's a rant for another day)
Thanks to my friends. I think about you all the time, even if I don't call or write or text or e-mail or skype or whatever.
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