The past few days have been bad, or at least have very much had the potential to be bad, but, yesterday especially, I took comfort in a barrage of social engagements and only very rarely allowed myself to indulge in the self-defeating pleasure of bitching about my issues. It's all dumb teenaged bullshit, excepting Cody's death, and there are better things to do with my time.

Still, for the record, let it be known that something has happened to hurt me, and badly, if I should stop to remember and invite defeat.

Rather than devoting myself to my own disgusting words, I have allowed my favorite poetess to speak for me- reading the following poem aloud to Emily last night, I was able to express a certain facet of my personal grief that I otherwise would have left to inarticulate dribble. I share this all with you now in hopes that her words might make my strife seem less callow and trivial.

"Pity me not because the light of day
At close of day no longer walks the sky;
Pity me not for beauties passed away
From field and thicket as the the year goes by;
Pity me not the waning of the moon,
Nor that the ebbing tide goes out to sea,
Nor that a man's desire is hushed so soon,
And you no longer look with love on me.
This have I known always: Love is no more
Than the wide blossom which the wind assails,
Than the great tide that treads the shifting shore,
Strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales:
Pity me that the heart is slow to learn
What the swift mind beholds at ever turn."

Work now. Ten hours straight. I'll spare you whining about that, as well.

On with it.