Call it a night to share a secret or two. Some things are better left not unsaid.

My thoughts about Rustina (see 'No Antecedent Necessary') have put a different spin on thoughts I deal with every year—the death of my grandfather. But, in this case, not so much about the death itself, but about the reinforcement of life that came with it.

Ok. Time for more referral madness: the strange search phrases used to find this site. (Last month's search phrases are online as well.)

Tonight: absolution through quiet sadness. Tonight is one of those nights that I damn the human mind's capacity to remember, especially of things that should have been let go many years ago.

A few nights ago I had a dream about Rustina. Rustina Wear, gone these fifteen years, gone one year less than she lived—the girl who was my sister's childhood best friend. I would make expected and pithy statements about how her untimely death in a freak car accident was one that affected us deeply.

Today, an oddly complete circle. Geof telling me about his relationship with a friend, a relationship that is rapidly approaching a point that will require him to make some major decisions soon. Brad, flush with a bit of domesticat-esque giddiness over a new girlfriend. John, dealing with his girlfriend's probable upcoming conversion to Catholicism and the effects that will have on their relationship.

But now, it's just me—and my thoughts—again. They won't settle down. I tried to write—but I can't clear my mind into abstraction, the way I need it to be in order for the words to flow properly. The voices, the questions, the comments are all too strong in my head, elbowing for room. There are lots of rhapsodical comments that could be made about seeing both ends of a relationship at once. Forget it, eh—you can come up with those yourself, and you're not interested in hearing me yap about them.

"I ponder the endlessness of the stars,

How strange, to actually meet the person that is Jonatha Brooke. How strange, to encounter for the first time a fan's mentality—to realize that the person who is standing in front of you and laughing at a joke is someone who is called by a single name by her friends—and not the full name that's on her albums.

I love that phrase. Always have. I came across it when I was a child—I think it was the first time I learned that a language such as Latin existed, and I became fascinated by it. It has stayed in my mind ever since.

Water is a refuge, and my refuge of choice is a boiling hot shower. Andy and I share opinions in that regard: we both agree that coming out lobster-y is the best way to go.