I am listening to a child play outdoors with toy telephone...the mechanical kind, run on manual power. You pull it along and it emits this slightly squealy, ringing, churning sound. It is that sound...that i can identify without seeing.

I didn't try anything stupid this time while getting my teeth pulled. The dentist didn't curse either, as he did last time. ("oh SHIT.") ...and none of that stupid girl in the dentist chair pretending that she was out of the exorcist either. Nope.

But I do like laughing gas. My mind spews poetry while I am on it, listening to the periodical drowning of the dentist drills and the muffled voices behind surgical masks. I like the fuzziness and the aura of bright light and the whimsical feelings accompanying the drug. If only I could write in my laughing gas diaries while on it.

I don't believe I have been so long without writing in my journal. It must have been the longest since...since highschool. ninth grade?

I got carried away ignoring the psyche..and now...now almost unbelievably easily, it is all coming back. I didn't expect to be gone..I didn't expect more that I could be writing again. It's kind of like riding your bike.

I didn't ride my bike until I was in fifth grade. It wasn't even my bike, it was my aunt's old banana seat. My father used to try to teach me in first grade..I just never caught on. Yep. My old pink strawberry shortcake bike with streamers and two big old training wheels.

I taught myself to ride in the summer of fifth grade. Down the backyard hill....down again. and again and again. until...i could feel myself balance.

Writing's like that too. I think everyone teaches themselves to write. In their own style. Perhaps they learn through imitation..but so is bike riding..

Copycat alley.