baby let your hair hang down

last night i took an appreciation walk at sunset. it was very nice. everyone's garden was in bloom. i was going to walk through the field, by the middle school, and so i went down the dead end to the gate. the house next to the gate had a fence around its yard, and a small bike was leaned against the fence. a little boy, about 7, was hitting the bike with a baseball bat, over and over again. it was loud. he didn't seem mad, just hitting his bike with a bat. i walked past him, and then realized that someone had put a big lock on the gate that always used to be open. so i had to walk back and take a different street.

at powell's i got a new diary, and a new book to read-- tender is the night by f. scott fitzgerald. i finished to the lighthouse yesterday. it is extremely good. i think i would need to be 3 times more intelligent to really understand it, but i still found it amazing. after i got home i read for a long time and went to sleep.. and had very strange dreams. i am still sick. help. i even ate a lot yesterday and took tons of vitamins and tried to be healthy and rest, and it didn't work.

"One wanted, she thought, to be on a level with ordinary experience, to feel simply that's a chair, that's a table, and yet at the same time, It's a miracle, it's an ecstacy."

"And, what was even more exciting, she felt, too, as she saw Mr. Ramsay bearing down and retreating, and Mrs. Ramsay sitting with James in the window and the cloud moving and the tree bending, how life, from being made up of little seperate incidents which one lived one by one, became curled and whole like a wave which bore one up with it and threw one down with it, there, with a dash on the beach."

(from to the lighthouse)