spectating participant


April 13, 2006

drifting through old writings

Filed under: life — suzanne henderson @ 12:09 pm

I’ve been feeling small pangs of guilt about blogging elsewhere. Somewhere I can celebrate financial nudity in the in the shelter of disassociation. But, I feel bad for creating and caching posts for future distribution to those who’ve settled into the personal finance niche while leaving my digital identity out in the cold with minimal entries that barely make the good-enough requirement. So, took a stroll through the April posts in the past few years and have pulled out a few interesting memories:

April 11, 2002 - Driving from Milwaukee to Baltimore for a weeked.

Sometimes I come up with the craziest ideas. While sitting on channel, I had the wonderful idea that I should drive to Baltimore for the PDF planning meeting (to be held this Saturday). Now, nevermind the fact that I am going to be in Baltimore next weekend for the 420 protests and the 420 party. No, that didn’t matter to me when I started enlisting the help of fellow burner, another driver, my good buddy Magorn.

April 15, 2003 - Making sushi for the first time

This was my first time to ever make sushi. It was fun and easy. I’ll now be making sushi at home more than I’ll be going out to eat it (woohoo, budget cut). Rob commented that all his daily nutrition needs better come from rice and eel since that’s all I’ll be cooking from now on.

April 13, 2004 - The ongoing east-coast dissapointment

Night doesn’t come here anymore. Black silhouettes of trees border the sky outside my window. Yellowed grey splashed across the sky pretending sanctuary from the sun. Damp fog hanging out of reach, unable to pull it back and find the few stars that remain. City lights have pierced the charcoal sea of silence that used to drown the trees and houses. The cuts bleed yellow and white, pushing the stars back beyond visibility. The rain left the air too crisp and bitter against my skin with it’s chilled grasp. Once, I’ve retreated under the covers, cuddled into night, and hidden in the blackness that only my pillow can provide, I’ll appreciate the wisps of wet whispers brush my cheek and ear, even if they brush me without the shimmer of starlight. How I miss the night, the nocturnal soundtrack and settled assurance that everything will rest, renew and be ready for dawn’s beckoning of life.