The pellets of rainy snow keep hitting my window like tiny faerie drums

These days I’m an emotional screwball. The slightest thing seems to upset me, bring me to tears, make feel crazy inside. I know I’m getting close to bleeding, but this is completely over-the-top hypersensitivity.

And the worst part is, I try to tell those around me, and it doesn’t seem to matter.

A fourteen-year-old brings me to tears and a feeling of absolute stupidity when I am just trying to learn something new.

I looked at another apartment today. It’s a true studio, dingy, basement, pretty yuck, but it’s about the most I can afford. And, I can always look to find work in the area, since it is pretty near a few business districts, and I don’t have to stay at the Boston Store forever. I mean really, it isn’t the best, either.

There is a place in the nearby neighborhood looking for a part-time receptionist. Maybe I could make it work to both for a while, in order to find enough to get along.

Everything just feels so crazy insane and wacko. I want to be like Frida, making a difference, living a gypsy life. And it’s funny, because I know that I don’t know Frida at all (and she most likely doesn’t know me), and so even though I’ve gleaned from her blog that there are troubles in the life of a humanitarian worker, I still am humbled and awed by the work she does. Making a difference in the world.

There is a boy in the dining room angry with his camera, and Raven trying to help him, and I’m just too fragile for 14-year-old hormones to handle it all. I want to curl up in the darkness with a cup of tea and be still, be silent, be humble until I melt into the snow which keeps falling out my window and drift on the wind in nothing.

This life, this round of lessons of learning, I just don’t seem to be getting things. I wish I could be still for long enough to find my heart, my center, the wisdom inside me, and move from that place of peace.

I want to know peace. Please.