The door jam framed her adding context to her slender body, reference points to where her arms began, where her toes pointed ever so softly outward. Pale, as if she had never wandered in the sun, her skin seemed to reflect upon itself adding a cool glow to her face. She stickily strummed the honey toned mandolin, seven notes in succession with three chord changes. She sighed, the top of her chest rolling up over the mandolin. Her lips parted as if to sing. She closed her eyes and played the same melody over and over again filling the ears of school children whose bellies wished for pasteries. Pigeons gathered to dance a waltz, paying no mind to the bread crumbs the old time men threw from the windows of the buildings above. The mandolin player's eyes began to melt and the chords cried.

I've come up with a novel idea: To live one day totally for myself. What would I do? Where would I go? Honestly the prospect frightens me for two reasons: the energy that would be spent doing all the things I want would be too great, and, the second... well I don't know yet ;^)

Strange, how I'm already 26 years old in England but not here in the United States. Can that really be true? Theoretically yes. Actually no. I received a birthday wish from a company I hold an account with that is based out of the UK and when I saw my name with a 26 after it I felt quite strange. When I was in sixth grade, Mr. Beiswanger had come to teach PE at my middle school. He was a 26 year old graduate of Chico State. While he wasn't the most attractive man, I found him cute. He was very kind and soon became a favorite teacher among the students. (I'm going to have to dish about Mr. B at some later date...) I figured that 26 would be the perfect age. One would have finished college and started on his or her career. Romantic relationships would have been developing. Everything would be hunky-dory. Here I am on the eve of my 26th birthday, still chipping away at my bachelor's degree, single and not having had a relationship in over a year and a half. Somehow 26 isn't what I thought it was going to be-- but I'm grateful it isn't meeting the expectation I've held for so long. I had a birthday dinner yesterday at Suppenkuche with a hand selected group of close friends. Without hyperbole, it was one of the better nights I've had in years. What surprised me the most is how well everyone got along. Days leading up to the dinner I told people, "My birthday may be two weeks after the 4th of July, but expect fireworks at the dinner!" I expected tongues to not be bitten and jibes to be freely thrown out. Everyone behaved and actually enjoyed themselves. Some more than other, others more than some. There was only one little hitch in the whole dinner and that was when the bill came. It can be a real downer for an affair, reality sets in and people can get a little tight with their $$$. I even got some presents, which I didn't expect and never encourage. The best thing about the gifts was how thoughtful they were. I'm amazed I made it through another year *knock on wood.* I honestly never expected to live to be 25, so everything after is delicious.

Storytellers are liars. Never trust those who tell stories. I feel like making my wounds into poems; make the stanzas bleed. I want to paint again but it scares me.