09.05.2002 - 10:38 a.m.

For a long time, it was a nightly ritual to work my way across my cluttered floor to the light on the far corner of my dresser. I would reach over, take one last, memorizing look at the mess between me and the bed, and turn off the light.

Frozen in the sudden dark, I would listen as all my fragile things rearranged themselves around my feet.

This is why I finally cleaned my room. I was tired of breaking irreplaceable things.

It�s taken a long time, and I still have some work to do in the closet and under the bed, but I�ve really done a very good job. I suppose that�s why it keeps surprising me to find that some of my fragile things are on other people�s floors.

They were gifts, freely given. It is not my place to tell you where to keep them.

�

I can think of no way to sum up that I would want everyone to read; though I�ve tried, believe me I�ve tried, I can think of nothing fluffy to write about instead.

I was never once warned that four years of study in communication and thought would be absolutely useless the moment it became Important. I think I resent that.

-stonebridge

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