_________________ Monday 14 February 2000 Valentine's Day   8 24 pm pst   [ five inches ] "We could... because..." She couldn't understand him. "What?" "We could stretch it horizontally to five inches." She absolutely loved when he talked in his sleep and she could engage him in a conversation. "Stretch what?"

"The horizontal and vertical cross section." Then he mumbled something she couldn't understand. She repeated the word she had thought she heard, but she had already lost him. "Enough!" If he had been awake he would have had a stern look. "That's enough." He rolled over away from her. He always figured out at some point that she was grilling him and that he was talking nonsense in his sleep. He always became immediately cross. He was snoring again before she could agree. She repeated the conversation over and over in her mind so she would remember it in the morning. She knew he was dreaming about 3D modeling. It was four am and she wouldn't be asleep for another hour.

She had no reason to get up in the morning. He had gone to school and wouldn't be home until late in the afternoon. TARGET="new" HREF="../entry/jane.html">Jane (a friend, a former co-worker, and the author of see jane live, see jane learn) sent her an e-mail and then offered to come over. Jane gave her a reason to get dressed and eat breakfast. She, still in bed, was grateful. Their talk over tea was wonderful and lasted for hours. He came in the middle of their get together. He brought a luscious romantic letter and a hand drawing of a rose. She was always trying to encourage him to draw more. She encouraged any artistic outlet. He made her veggie burgers for dinner -- heaped high with lettuce, tomatoes, red onion, and mustard on an onion bun.

umbrella tree -- Schefflera actinophylla

She had given him a plant -- an umbrella tree -- for Valentine's Day two years ago. She stole outside to look at, to think of its growth, to miss her own plants. She was not a guest in his house; she did not need to ask permission to make tea. But it was still his house, devoid of the endless distractions of her own space. She could not tend to her green friends, rummage in the cupboards and concoct some feastly delight, rearrange closet contents, or unpack the neverending boxes from her apartment. She had to find new distractions. She never got to the Cary Grant flick she had rented. February 2000 February 1999 February 1998

This third person entry is a collab.

two years ago today: "Pardon me while I eat my electronic words." * * * six months ago today: "I feel as though we have been travelling for weeks, and wonder how I will feel in another ten days... We got a light sprinkle on the road, and are delighted it isn't too hot here. I wanted to go out dancing, and see how Wyoming residents live it up on a Saturday night, but I knew my mother would dissapprove, so I decided to save my fun for next weekend, when we are much closer to the end of our journey." * * * <   yesterday | month | tomorrow   > back to Rachel's Daily Diary