[ saturday, december 8 ]
two exams in twenty-two hours. ouch. more to come.but it's starting to smell like winter outside, and even though I saw the sunshine this morning I'm rather enjoying the rain, now that the sky has gone black and every falling raindrop is visible in the glow from the lights along the shiny-slick path. the grass, still green as if we had only just rolled over into autumn, is glistening but unbent, standing quietly under the constant patter. it's gentle rain, the kind that whispers, and even though it was sharp with chill I turned my face up into it, eyes closed, and let it fall onto my forehead and eyelids. no exams, no homework, no classes, no relationships, no emails or phone calls or paperwork or paychecks, only the soft stacatto of everywhere raindrops, cold and clean and new.
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[ friday, december 7 ]
new from hubble: a giant star factory in neighboring galaxy ngc 6822.[ 14:05 • + ]
my brain and the world are running at completely different speeds today. maybe that's what happens when I get more than two hours of sleep. without the constant struggle to stay conscious I feel like I'm floating, and the only thing keeping me anchored to reality is this urgency in my heartbeat that grows louder with every minute. I should be working, I should be filling all these empty bits of time with productivity because they are just preludes to the inevitable deadlines, and I should be working hard because I'm down to my last chance. I don't have time to sit on my floor examining the threads in my socks and listening to the birds chorusing in treetops outside. I don't have time to think about all the things I don't have time for.
it doesn't feel like december yet. everyone is outside in short sleeves and some of the trees are budding, tricked into believing their nascent flowers will be embraced by the warmth of spring. it doesn't feel like the end of the semester yet. between my three once-a-week classes and my fourth often-skipped class I can't remember enough classroom hours to account for a month's worth of school, let alone three times that, even though I remember even less time that I spent not doing homework or worrying about how to get it done. and what have I learned? and how am I supposed to work with this growing nervousness pressing against my ribcage, and how will I start to breathe again until I've gotten some work done?
I don't know I don't know. what the hell am I doing?
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12:34
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[ thursday, december 6 ]
it's been a phenomenally good forty-eight hours; I would tell you but I'm afraid I just don't have time. here are some pictures instead.I got something pretty in the mail today, from someone I love. 
there's a pair of giant papier-mache shoes hanging off the side of my dorm. I've been wanting to show you, and today there was a picture in the phoenix. 
picture them red, of course.
also, the galaxy is full of hydrogen. I stayed up all night last night, half-working and half-playing, and when I finally made it home just before seven there was only an hour before I was supposed to be at the track to run, so I just changed into my workout clothes and cleaned my room until it was time to go. I actually had a lot of fun running in spite of being tired; we did clappers on rain-wet grass and I was feeling too sloppy to bother catching myself, so at the end of every sprint I just spun and flopped facedown onto the ground, sliding backwards thanks to my momentum and my low-traction running shoes. it made me giddy like a carefree preschooler. in between sets we went into the weight room to get a drink. it was still before eight thirty so the machines were mostly empty, but there were two boys there lamenting the necessity of getting up so early just to have the place to themselves. this isn't early, I half-joked. I haven't even gone to bed yet. one of them rolled his eyes at me as I had expected, but the other just gave me a curious look and asked about my major. I'm an astro major I said, still avoiding the two final syllables. he just nodded knowingly. "oh. you must be rabi." so apparently everyone knows I'm the rugby-playing astrochick who never sleeps. which is accurate enough, I guess.
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I have a reputation.
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[ tuesday, december 4 ]
better: blue highlighter and purple pen, astronomy over lunch, glossy books full of outsider art, narrow windows full of trees and blue sky, birds against the sun, power pop in my headphones, tomatoes and cous cous, magazine poetry, happy friends.
I like making lists. what's going okay for you? the entire wall, usually dingy and ugly, was lit up in flaming sunset orange. the spiky shadows of our cactus and ponytail plants stretched darkness up from the floor, taller than me and looming like heroes on the horizon. I stared wide-eyed for a minute before turning back to my work, and when I looked up again a minute later it was gone, the wall barely colored at all with a blush of reflected pinkness, the shadows blurred into the background. just a hallway. I would have missed it.
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the world looks okay. the words sound okay. my body feels okay. the air smells okay. my mouth tastes okay. everything seems okay. it does. so there must be something wrong with my sixth sense, because I am just one big ball of nervous anxiety.
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13:35
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astropic.
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10:57
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[ monday, december 3 ]
we were sitting in the hallway of the science building this evening, on the couch opposite the row of green office doors and off-white paintd cinderbrick, while the sun was setting outside the window behind us. I was bent over my electrodynamics book, scowling at a dipole moment derivation, when my classmate kicked my foot and said, "look."
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[ sunday, december 2 ]
I was putting a four-and-a-half-year-old to bed last night and we had just turned out the lights when she looked up and asked, "bad dreams?"
"what about bad dreams?"
"do you ever have bad dreams?" her pupils were wide in the spilled half-light from the hallway.
"yes." every night, almost. it's better than having bad daydreams, I guess. "but I always wake up and then it's okay."
"will you have bad dreams for me?" she said it in such a sweetly sleepy voice that it almost didn't sound strange at all.
"I don't think I can have your dreams," I said, wishing I could.
she just looked at me, expectant, as if she had asked me to get her a cup of water and couldn't figure out why I was still sitting there.
"I promise someone will be here if you wake up and need company," I told her, and slipped her head from my lap to her pillow.
goodnight.
the next time I looked into her room she was asleep, with her chin tucked onto her chest and her chocolate-brown hair curling across her cheek, her breathing barely perceptible but gently rhythmic, in and out alive. no bad dreams. I don't so much mind my nightmares anymore, but even if I did I would willingly dream nothing but terror if it meant the universe would save its sweetness for children. I woke up this morning just before the fork with my own finger on it entered my mouth.