May 8th, 2002:

My fingers smell like sulfur. I can’t find my lighter so I’ve been using matches. I love the smell of matches.

David and Julie are coming out this evening to hang out / play guitar / get coffee / whatever. That should be fun.

I’m leaving work here in a few minutes, I’m gonna go home, do a load of laundry, clean up a bit and by then they should be there.

Purchased:

4 Rusted Root tickets for Wednesday, May 29th.

When I say perfect, this is what I mean:

I say, “I have a very pretty face that I wear a lot of the time. It slightly resembles me. But, should you start to pick at the paint, I’ll get defensive. I’ll push you away. I’ll paint it on thicker. And I won’t let you near me after that.”

Then she says, “I’ll get closer.”