find nothing but faith in nothing

What does it mean to be understanding? What does anything mean... I don't know anymore.

I've given you sunshine, I've given you rain

This is the second night in a row that I've woken up at around 04:30 and have been unable to go back to sleep. How do people function with so little sleep? I don't know how mothers do it. I pump myself full of tea in the daytime so that I can barely carry out the basic functions of a person.

I signed up for raiding Monday and Tuesday, knowing that I'll probably only be slotted one of these two days. This whole raiding business worries me a little... what if I let everyone down? But that's not why I'm up...

I sometimes wonder if the great historical figures ever felt the way I do about things. Did Abe Lincoln ever have an emo trip over one of his friendships? One of the strangest moments in my life happened the other week, when the entire pod was out having lunch (Irene may have been on vacation), and Richard divulged these facts about him and experiences he had that I had never heard before. I felt uncomfortable and false, sitting there, supposedly his closest friend, and yet not knowing any of the stories coming out of him. Revealing and somewhat shocking things I never knew. And here he was sharing it with three other podmates, and me. I felt like someone was going to find out that I didn't know these things and tell me that I'm not really his close friend, that I didn't even know these things about him. Right there, in the restaurant. While I was sitting beside him. I think I managed to contain my shame. That's not why I'm up, either...

It's funny, it also feels shameful to be sitting here, awake at 04:54, knowing you should be in bed. I know Nads would shoo me off to bed, and she is always worried about my sleep. And I fear that she will wake up and catch me like this... so pathetic and out of control.

I can't write, she's got all my inspiration

The daily writing exercise, from C.M. Mayo. Does anyone know of any writing exercise of the day type deals?

I am reproducing some of this one cause it's obscure, please don't sue me Ms. Mayo, I'm just trying to write! The full exercise and more can be found here: http://www.cmmayo.com/d5mwearchives.june.html

In two sentences or less describe Fran. In two sentences or less describe her living room. In two sentences or less, very specifically put Fran in the livingroom. Then, Tina comes in and tries to help. In what way? What exactly does Tina do? And/ or say? How does Fran react?

Fran is a delicate woman living in a post-apocalyptic world. Her living room brings new meaning to the term "open concept". She is looking for her baby underneath the debris, where she had hidden him from the infanticidal sun earlier in the day. Tina, noticing her frantic searching, gets to searching as well, pushing away garbage and boxes. Wordlessly, she searches as if it were her own child. Fran takes cautious comfort in Tina's help, as babies are now the most precious resource in the world. She would do it for any other child.

you're nothing special until you turn out the lights

A writing exercise not from jPod.

---

Despite the strange metallic shard of a meteor that seemed to still faintly glow, the clock that made a ghostly creak every time the minute hand budged, and shrunken head sitting on the glass cabinet, the suitcase in the middle of the room had John's attention.

It had been retrieved from the attic this morning. Papa Joe had sworn he had never seen the suitcase before, but John did not exactly trust his memory. What seemed really odd to John was that the suitcase had no dust on it. If this was a forensics show he'd refer to the entire suitcase as a big void in dust splatter. The possibilities raced in his mind.

Behind him, Meredith cautiously looked on. John studied her intently for a moment and knew she was thinking about the bloodied dreamcatcher of an Aztec god, or the coral gathered from around the Bermuda Triangle, and how none of them were as strange this suitcase. John could feel her trepidation. He could see her slightly damp hands holding each other, waiting for his instructions.

The suitcase itself wasn't the most unique case in the world, sitting in its ubiquitous black leathery skin and silver frame. But the way it was simply dumped into the attic...

John couldn't decide if he should open it. The unfamiliarity of the case scared him. He knew one thing though, he could not, under any circumstances, allow it to be opened in the house. He told Meredith to grab the keys and he picked up the rather light suitcase - alien technology? - and transported it to their minivan. They drove out to a canyon about sixty miles from their home, where once there was an archaeological dig site set up because some professor thought there would be fossils from the Missing Link buried in the area. The area had been empty for years after, as if the disappointment was too much for anyone to handle. Here, no one but John or Meredith could be harmed.

John dragged the suitcase to the edge of the canyon, in case he had to push it over. The dry heat was already making him sweat. He bent down and examined the lock carefully, trying to determine the best way to open it. He turned to Meredith to ask for the crowbar, but before he got a word out, she slammed into his chest. John reached out desperately but the momentum carried both him and the suitcase over the edge. The suitcase popped open and several sheets of paper flew out, and John couldn't make out the contents of any of them. He was also trying to remember if he had seen the red glow in Meredith's eyes at the moment of impact, if maybe it was the Aztec god he had brought so thoughtlessly into their home. And then, he could think no more.

You're born of a jackal! You're beautiful!

It's funny how I perceive things so differently from other people. For example, my friends often think I'm at my meanest when I'm making fun of them or aspects of them that they find to be negative (in front of their face).

I will sometimes mock Chris' weight or about him ever having had one girlfriend or whatever. I agree that the jokes are quite brutal and they cut deep, but really, they are quite a compliment from me. By laughing about these things, what I'm really saying is "haha, let's laugh at these things that don't really matter, I like you how you are".

And that's really true of all my friends. I accept them exactly as they are. If they want to improve and change, that's great too and I support them, but I know all kinds of things about them and it doesn't matter to me. I like them anyway.