Meet Virginia
Train

She doesn't own a dress
Her hair is always a mess
If you catch her stealin'
She won't confess
She's beautiful.

Smokes a pack a day
Wait that's me, but anyway
She doesn't care a thing about that, hey
She thinks I'm beautiful.

Meet Virginia

She never compromises
Loves babies and surprises
Wears high heels when she exercises
Ain't that beautiful?

Meet Virginia

Well she want's to be the queen
And she thinks about her scene
Pulls her hair back and she screams,
"I don't really want to be the queen!"

Daddy wrestles alligators
mama works on carburetors
Her brother is a fine mediator
For the president.

Here she is again on the phone
Just like me; hates to be alone
We just like to sit at home
And rip on the president.

Meet Virginia

Well she wants to live her life
And she thinks about her life
Pulls her hair back and she screams,
"I don't really want to live this life!"

She only drinks coffee at midnight
When the moment is not right
Her timing is quite
Unusual

You see, her confidence is tragic
And her intuition magic
And the shape of her body,
Unusual.

Meet Virginia
I can't wait to
Meet Virginia,
Yeah.

Well she want's to be the queen
And she thinks about her scene
Well she wants to live her life
And she thinks about her life
Pulls her hair back and she screams,
"I don't really want to be the queen!
I, I don't really want to be the queen!
I, I don't really want to be the queen!
I, I don't really want to live this..."

I realized tonight that if my beautiful and wonderful girlfriend Pri decided to go out of town for a week, that I would have no one at Bard to call. No one to eat dinner with, no one to hang out with. Wow.

This is not a plea for sympathy and no Pri is not consuming my life. My friends at Bard dropped off one by one as I was having a difficult time this semester. I just find it amazing that not one of them has stuck around.

I was standing in CVS with my girlfriend, looking at coffee filters and such when a woman, who Pri (foresaid girlfriend) says must have been around 60, grabbed my ass. Wow...

She looked and reminded me of my grandma.

Now that doesn't happen everyday.

If I were to write a screen play, the moment that the main character realizes that there is nothing she can do about her prediciment would be filled with the noise of 50 loud, randomly, squaking geese. That is the noise of insanity.

An Excerpt from The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall

Anna worried continually over her daughter; for one thing Stephen was a social disaster, yet at seventeen many a girl was presented, but the bare idea of this had terrified Stephen, and so it had had to be abandoned. At garden parties she was always a failure, seemingly ill at ease and ungracious. She shook hands much too hard, digging rings into fingers, this from sheer automatic nervous reaction. She spoke not at all, or else gabbled to freely, so that Anna grew vague in her own conversation; all eyes and ears she would be as she listened-- it was certainly terribly hard on Anna. But if hard on Anna, it was harder on stephen who dreaded these festive gatherings intensely; indeed her dread of them lacked all proportion, becoming a kind of unreasoning obsession. Every vestige of self-confidence seemed to desert her, so that Puddle, supposing she happened to be present would find herself grimly comparing this Stephen with the graceful, light-footed, proficient young athlete, with the clever and somewhat opinionated student who was fast outstripping her own powers as a teacher. Yes, Puddle would sit there grimly comparing, and would feel not a little uneasy as she did so. Then something of her pupil's distress would reach her, so that perforce she would have to share it and as like as not she would want to shake Stephen.

'Good Lord,' she would think, 'why can't she hit back? It's absurd, it's outrageous to be so disgruntled by a handful of petty, half-educated yokels-- a girl with her brain too, it's simply outrageous! She'll have to tackle life more forcibly than this, if she's not going to let herself go under!'

But Stephen, completely oblivious of Puddle, would be deep in the throes of her old suspicion, the suspicion that had haunted her ever since childhood-- she would fancy that people were laughing at her. So sensitive was she, that a half-heard sentence, a word, a glance, made her inwardly crumble. It might well be that people were not even thinking about her, much less discussing her appearance-- no good, she would always imagine that the word, the glance, had some purely personal meaning. She would twitch at her hat with inadequate fingers, or walk clumsily, slouching a little as she did so, until Anna would whisper:

'Hold your back up, you're stooping.'

Or Puddle exclaim crossly: 'What on earth's the matter, Stephen!'

All of which only added to Stephen's tribulation by making her still more self-conscious.

With other young girls she had nothing in common, while they, in their turn, found her irritating. She was shy to primness regarding certain subjects, and would actually blush if they happened to be mentioned. This would strike her companions as queer and absurd-- after all, between girls-- surely everyone knew that at times one ought not to get one's feet wet, that one didn't play games, not at certain times-- there was nothing to make all this fuss about surely! To see Stephen Gordon's expression of horror if one so much as threw out a hint on the subject, was to feel that the thing must in some way be shameful, a kind of disgrace, a humiliation! And then she was odd about other things too; there were so many thing that she didn't like mentioned.

But at times Stephen hated her own isolation, and then she would make little awkward advances, while her eyes would grow rather apologetic, like the eyes of a dog who has been out of favour. She would try to appear quite at ease whit her companions, as she joined in their light-hearted conversation. Strolling up to a group of young girls at a party, she would grin as though their small jokes amused her, or else listen gravely while they talked about clothes or some popular actor who had visited Malvern. As long as they refrained from too intimate details, she would fondly imagine that her interest passed muster. There she would stand with her strong arms folded, and her face somewhat strained in an effort of attention. While despising these girls, she yet longed to be like them-- yes, indeed, at such moments she longed to be like them. It would suddenly strike her that they seemed very happy, very sure of themselves as the gossiped together. There was something so secure in their feminine conclaves, a secure sense of oneness, of mutual understanding; each in turn understood the other's ambitions. They might have their jealousies, their quarrels even, but always she discerned, underneath, that sense of oneness.

Poor Stephen! She could never impose upon the; they always saw through her as though she were a window. They knew well enough that she cared not so much as a jot about clothes and popular actors. Conversation would falter, then die down completely, her presence would dry up their springs of inspiration. She spoilt things while trying to make herself agreeable; they really liked her better when she was grumpy.

Could Stephen have met men on equal terms, she would always have chosen them as her companions; she preferred them because of their blunt, open outlook, and with men she had much in common-- sport for instance. But men found her too clever if she ventured to expand, and too dull if she suddenly subsided into shyness. In addition to this there was something about her that antagonized slightly, an unconscious presumption. Shy though she might be, they sensed this presumption; it annoyed them, it made them feel on the defensive. She was handsome but much too large and unyielding both in body and mind, and they liked clinging women. They were oak-trees, preferring the feminine ivy. It might cling rather close, it might finally strangle, it frequently did, and yet they preferred it, and this being so, they resented Stephen, suspecting something of the acorn about her.

I've been doing a lot of soul searching this summer.

I've had a lot of experiences this summer which have change my perspective of my self. Currently, I'm trying to figure out exactly who I am, cliche as that sounds. The emotions are running deep, deeper that I've ever been able to go before. I'm getting help, soon. I am honestly, truly and deeply afraid. And this all goes back to me. No one single person has any responsibility in this situation but myself. I love you and I hope you're doing well. I'm working towards it.

You and I

Friday night, as I was falling asleep, I began to think about what an amazing person you are. About how you should be honored and loved and taken care of. How someone should be there to hold you and kiss you and make you feel amazing. And then I realized that Chris is there and that I know he is doing and being all of the things that you truly deserve. And I think it's enough for me to know that you're being honored and treated with love.

What we had is gone and I've realized that now. Whatever that was there romantically, platonically is gone. All there is now to do is to walk away or rebuild, change. To quote Colin Haye, I just don't know that I'll ever get over you. What I said before is true; you are an amazing person and, in the typical Becca way, I love you passionately. While it might lessen in time, I think that I will always love you, regardless of who I'm with, regardless of who I fall in love with, regardless of who I marry. Even though I may soon feel the touch of love, I just don't think I'll ever get over you. So read this and then let it sink to the back of your mind, because I've realized there is nothing I can do, and, honestly, I don't want to do anything. You're happy with Chris and you're more than loved with him. And I honor that.

Finally, I've been listening to this song a lot lately. I don't know that I ever sent you the lyrics, but I discovered it last fall; Genya burned me the cd as a random present. It's a great song and a great cd if you're ever interested.

You and I Both
Jason Mraz

Was it you who spoke the words
that things would happen but not to me
Oh things are gonna happen naturally
Oh taking your advice I'm looking on the bright side
And balancing the whole thing
But often times those words get tangled up in lines
And the bright lights turn to night
Until the dawn it brings
Another day to sing about the magic that was you and me

Cause you and I both loved
What you and I spoke of
And others just read of
Others only read of the love, the love that I love.

See I'm all about them words
Over numbers, unencumbered numbered words
Hundreds of pages, pages, pages four words
More words then I had ever heard and I feel so alive

You and I, you and I
Not so little you and I anymore
And with this silence brings a moral story
More importantly evolving is the glory of a boy

Cause you and I both loved
What you and I spoke of
And others just dream of
And if you could see me now
Well I'm almost finally out of
I'm finally out of
Finally deedeedeedee
Well I'm almost finally, finally
Well I'm free, oh, I'm free

And it's okay if you have go away
Oh just remember the telephone works both ways
And if I never ever hear them ring
If nothing else I'll think the bells inside
Have finally found you someone else and that's okay
Cause I'll remember everything you sang

Cause you and I both loved what you and I spoke of
and others just read of and if you could see now
well I'm almost finally out of.
I'm finally out of, finally, deedeeededede
well I'm almost finally, finally, finally out of words.


I'm leaving tomorrow, I'll be back Friday. Call me if you ever feel the need.

Feel Free and Good Bless.

Becca