Hai.

     I felt so unbelievably happy today. I hope I haven't maxed out on happiness, now that I've had today. I feel like I'm Stargirl, and ah she's a good memory to bring back. Stargirl and her wagon full of pebbles. I think if I had a happiness wagon, I'd have all pebbles in except one, maybe two. That's how blissfully happy I am.
     My interviews: done. My school week: practically done. No stress. Nada. I'm so chill. I'm at peace, in the moment. I'm going to ask if we can go hiking on Sunday again, and I can run down the trail with my hair blowing behind me and tears of peace just leaking out of my eyes. Tears of peace? My my. Yar, but my she was yar! And that's both a Philadelphia Story and Dharma Bums reference. Two things I like. Cary Grant, Jack Kerouac. James Stewart, Sean Monahan. Japhy Ryder. The ex-Marine from Paterson, New Jersey, a Jew. The original dharma bum Ray met on the Midnight Ghost. The Zipper.
     We're learning about Japan and samurai in world history. I keep thinking of Japhy, funny thing. Good old Zen Buddhism. And I also think about L and how she's doing, and then I think of that idiot at Blue Tree this past summer who decided to give herself "anime eyes." I remember she wore the same shirt every day, and she wasn't even residential. And that one hat. It was pretty odd. I didn't like her much. I don't much like anime elitists.
     I'm dead tired, honestly. My book smells good. ^_^ I think I'll crash about now. Tomorrow or in the near future I think I'll post a list, either of books, songs, or none of the above.

Place to be: Kopan Monastery, in Nepal

WHERE IS THIS KOPAN MONASTERY?

J'ai une histoire

   Writing from Chatham, Cape Cod, on the windowsill, and it smells like gouda. WHERE'S THE MOSS SMELL FROM OUTSIDE, EH?! Who says you have to go inside when it's thundering?! Nature, with the combination of parents and responsible obligations, is just unfair.
                                                                   *     *     *
   She stood around and watched the rain plink on the porch railing. She didn't suppose it was actually making a sound like that, but water going about PLINKing was a commonly used term. The little splashes on the railing looked like spiders. She supposed a crab analogy would be more appropriate.
   She sat in the chair and got soaked to her skin. There was a coating of sand on the back of her calves and thighs where her shorts ended. Her sketching paper grew see-through and then it ripped in places. She watched water drip off her nose by crossing her eyes a little.
   She wiggled her sock feet in the flooded water on the porch. The socks made her toes itch a title, but she didn't mind, really. She thought about taking a kayak into the bay while it was raining. She would watch the lobster boats and the lady with the blonde hair who jabbered on about her job, scavenging for clams in the sloppy sand.
   Then there was a small burst of thunder. And lightning, the second bolt, soon after, looking like a set of chopsticks crossed over each other, and thunder again. She sighed and smelled it. Smelling was her favorite sense.
   She knew it was time to go in. Her parents would be worried. No outside when it was stormy, by herself at least. She walked inside, and her dad turned on the light when she wanted it off, and it smelled like smoked gouda from today's 4:00 aperitif.
   She watched the rain behind the shutters and the screen, but it wasn't the same.
   She thought maybe the smell was the problem. It was the smell.

The autumn moon lights my way

    I was at Barnes and Noble yesterday and I got this AWESOME leather journal--two, actually--that had an absolutely mesmerizing Celtic sort of print. It was green. AND it smelled like leather. I can't wait till I become a hermit and write in my journal out in the wilderness while I eat bananas and listen to Moonlight Sonata and plant larkspurs and various types of vegetables! It'll be great. My hermit life is really coming along...
    I'm going to a Billy Joel cover band tonight, along with an acquaintance of mine who appreciates good music from the 80s era! Maybe I shouldn't become a hermit. I'll never meet a kindred spirit my age who actually knows who Simon & Garfunkel is. That could get sort of sad. On the rare occasion that I do come across one of those, it does tend to restore my faith in humanity.
    For my next camp, I'm supposed to print out the lyrics to a song that inspires me... these two have somewhat meaningful-sounding lyrics, so here are the contenders--
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and
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