is i is or is i not me?

a friend recently commented i've become a lot less feisty of late. thought about it, and i think: i still am, or can be anyway, as and when the right catalyst comes along. trouble is, time and responsibilty (for me, or for those who used to play catalyst) are real robbers of times past.

it is because it is past, that there exists the possibility of fond memory, bittersweet melancholy, treasured recollection. still, sometimes, i wish the world didn't operate the way it does.

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"The brain appears to possess a special area which we might call poetic memory and which records everything that charms or touches us, that makes our lives beautiful." Kundera, Unbearable Lightness

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i want to feel quietly happy. more. i liked how it felt before.

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my sis (the forced accomplice) and i are working on a major scan job. we've been scanning lots of bell bottoms, big glasses, bigger hair, and verrry cute kiddie pics (fine, she cute, me funny) like no tomorrow.

and this is only the beginning.

more on this to come...

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catching up is great, especially when you get to grill. right, a certain you-know-who-you-are? did i mention i'm appointing myself official sponge cum advisor of (un?)wanted er, advice?

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alex, eky, vernon, and all who may now be joyous:

for some strange reason or other, she who will not be named seems to have abandoned her camera. she's not even sure where it is, and the batteries are certainly not charged. it's gotten so severe that she feels deathly sick and disgustingly photo-free and keels over onto the floor, moaning that she feels sick. really, really sick. oh god, she thinks she's going to die! it's great.

maybe it's just the case of muggy local weather. in which case, alex, don't pop the champagne just yet.

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i think i want to write poetry again.
not that i ever stopped, really.
but i want to put myself into more of those experiences which make me write, the way i used to write, all over again.
those who know, know. and to them i ask - any takers?