Sweet dreams and flying machines in peices on the ground.

I have patchouli oil burning in my room. It makes me feel like I'm in the right era. It makes me feel at home. I think I'll listen to some James Taylor. Then some Carole King. A little America. Some Eagles. Mr. Hawking, I understand how to travel into the future, but how do I go back?

I made a mistake. It's too late now.

"It is much more comfortable to be mad and know it, than to be sane and have one's doubts."

11 days, Mr. Hawking. I wonder what you'll think of me.

All the best things start with fire. Love, letter seals, ukrainian easter eggs, warmth, burning patchouli, the opening of pinecones. All the best days end in rain. Thinking days, meteor showers, festivals, first dates, musical epiphany. I continue to expect everything to work out. I'm not sure whether it's keeping me hopeful or keeping me down.

I might become a fighter pilot. I think I need to. Alexander the Great would be disappointed in our warfare, but I think he would also be disappointed that his title has been deferred to a hockey player. If I do become a fighter pilot I'll yell clever commentary like, "FLARE NOW!"

The person I see when I picture myself a fighter pilot has a thing for gummy bears - and everyone knows it. She has wild black wavy hair that always looks sexy. Her hands always have reminders and doodles of her cats. She's witty and sharp, and her legs never have stubble. She doesn't care what anybody thinks about her, especially her co-pilot who she abuses on a daily basis. But on a nightly basis she realizes she's pretty much smitten. She knows that after her 3 year term, she'll be back studying astrophysics under NASA. She only hopes she'll be used to negative G by that point.

She also eats baguettes. Lots and lots of baguettes.

Would anyone like a post card/letter from Prince George, BC? Capital of no where? A satisfactory doodle is guaranteed on every one!

I fell down the stairs today.

Gravity: 1

Cat like reflexes: 0