7.31.2005

the first lines

Main Entry: limn
Pronunciation: 'lim
Function: transitive verb
Inflected Form(s): limned; limnĀ·ing /'li-mi[ng], 'lim-ni[ng]/
Etymology: Middle English luminen, limnen to illuminate (a manuscript), from Middle French enluminer, from Latin illuminare to illuminate
1 : to draw or paint on a surface
2 : to outline in clear sharp detail : DELINEATE
3 : DESCRIBE

yes, it is time to begin again.

hi. i'm amy. i am typing to you right now from a 12" ibook on a pale wood dining table beneath a skylight in my little hobbit home in oakland, ca. over in the kitchen, a cup of tea is brewing on the counter, waiting for two spoons of sugar. i should be reading about metaphor. i should be outside going for a run. but what i'm doing is sitting here typing to you.

i wonder what to tell you next. i wonder what bits of this fuzzy category called my life are important to tell you now. in fuzzy categories we don't worry so much about the boundaries and i suppose that i never have worried much about boundaries either. it gets me in trouble.

when you limn something, you sketch an outline. you determine and record the boundaries. this is an experiment in self-definition. this is an experiment in self-containment, in solidity. have you ever noticed how hard it is to be solid, real, not always shifting around?

so how to really begin?

i love someone too much, so much more than he can accept or return and it's been like this for years and i have finally found the strength to say no, to say "everything you have to give is just not enough"
or
i want to go to grad school more than anything but secretly i wonder if i just want to hide from life
or
oakland is sunnywarm today, i should be outside
or
my mother loves me but my sexuality terrifies her
or
the tea is ready for its sugar now.

all of these things are true, none of them is quite right. ah well, we'll get there. yeah, i really think that this time we will.