27 September 2002 - 1:13 a.m.

Tonight I went to a poetry reading as Jenn. I left as Ginger. The other party people, aka grad students, gave me a nickname. I think it might work for me.

It has been confirmed for me that I am, in fact, perhaps as ghostly and apparition-like as that creepy guy in the museum suggested. Maybe it is my own fault that I can't take that as a compliment. I am a real girl, real, real, real, real, real.

Forgive me. There is Jenn, and then there is Ginger after three glasses of wine. Neither knows quite what to do with herself. One wore a purple dress and opend all her own containers tonight. One stole a wine cork as a souvenier for the second time this year, just to prove that everythign was real.

I'm so sick of the world sometimes, or at least the way I see it, the way it always appears cloudy. What the hell? Is that just my world? Am I as cloudy as everything else?

A note to all things male: you don't need to make a dumb excuse to look at me. Just feel free. You never know, you might be my top secret favorite something or other. And I don't believe in auras.

NathanC79: OK. Well I must be off. Dawn waits for no man

NathanC79: And since I am all man, it won't wait for me

This entry is turning into the worst kind of poetry, whihc is the poetry of someone who doesn't know what poetry is.

And that would be me.

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: