sometimes life feels delicate and i have to think how lucky i am that i get to experience life that way -- that i'm tiptoeing through cathedrals or post-shower forests rather than trudging through bloodpuddles, carrying my own severed arm. or something. that i'm happy and get to write about it. that i get to hold and be held. that my only limitations, besides the common (gravity, eventual entropy, &c.,) are essentially my flaws, not circumstances or handicaps. when it really counted, i've never had anyone tell me i can't do what i want. granted i've always tried to keeps my goals and desires modest so as to maintain that trend, but still.
the whole business is intricate and fragile; it could crash down on me at any moment; a thousand things could happen to trip it up, many of which are extremely likely. or maybe just growing up will throw off the balance. who knows. the point is, i'm lucky now, i'm happy now, i'm going to denmark where the only word on the cheat sheet easy enough for me to pronounce is "beer" -- either the danes will think i'm an alcoholic or they'll figure i'm a great sport. (what's "beer" doing on a list with "hello" "how are you?" "dinner was great" and "help! my arm's been blown off" anyhow?)

lock, stock ... at 12, not 11. hope to see you there. i promise i'll be more coherent then. in the meanwhile, dinner? QSA? the muslim-feminism lecture? ... or *shudder* homework?