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Below are the 3 most recent journal entries recorded in Doni Smithe, Ph.D.'s LiveJournal:

Thursday, June 2nd, 2005
7:11 am
broken wings
Five more weeks until the cast comes off my wrist; eleven for the leg. This is excrutiating.

A tiny part of me wants to give in. To listen to Barbara, and Teddy. To hand myself over to vice--but I did that the other night, and look what happened. The pain in my stomach was worse than either of the broken bones. What possessed me to try to eat everything in the kitchen? I got hungry, and I got weak.

Saw a nutritionist today. She's supposed to help, but I don't see how anyone can eat this much in a single day. 2000 calories or more? It's crazy. I'll gain a pound per day, at least. That could be her plan; fatten me up, and then give me something more realistic. 1200 or so, tops.

I'm terrified. I keep wondering what will happen once I've hit my 'goal' weight; will I recognise myself? I'll have to buy new clothes, and I'll want to disappear, to hide from everyone. I won't be able to hide from myself, or from him. His words are everywhere. Look at you, p'tite. T'es grosse. Corporante. Lazy and stupid. I hated when he spoke English. God, I hated him. But he was right.
Monday, May 2nd, 2005
6:34 am
I worry about Beth, and about Teddy. The two of them are so fragile, whether or not either will admit it. Their relationship seems so tenuous, their interactions so strained--at least, as far as I can tell from Teddy's comments. I should visit Beth, but what would I say?

My heart goes out to her. Her family murdered. And here I sit, comfortable in my settling life. I am lucky: my loves, my family, are healthy and safe. Everyone is resuming their normal activities, discovering new ones. I'm no exception to this.

I love them. Both of them, Barbara and Teddy. Barbara was sudden, but Teddy crept up on my heart while I was preoccupied with other things. Now they both reside here in this crowded space. How can one heart contain so much? And why can time not stretch to hold everything in the same way?

Current Mood: nervous
Thursday, April 28th, 2005
8:02 am
welcome to my sorry life
I've remembered the whole poem, and it frightens me.

Her voice glows brightly as her hair

Her voice glows brightly as her hair:
Each has a rose-gold hue.
But how could mortal eyes compare
The beauty of the two?
(Or hope to see a thing as fair
As all her colours true?)

The voice is magic, madd'ning, rare;
She offers it to few.
She guards it with such precious care
And keeps it from our view.
(Who must I be that I should dare
To listen as I do?)

The head is crowned with fire's glare;
It burns each day anew.
Now I am caught within her snare--
It shall consume me, too.
(Alas! I can do naught but stare
And all my weakness rue!)

Hardly a bastion of twenty-first-century poetry, I am, but the poem has a strange power for me. Perhaps because it was written about her. I wrote this verse in a dream and it intruded upon my waking life, and now I am left to ponder the true meaning of the words.

This is, I suppose, far easier to bear than the weight of all that I have to ponder at present.

Current Mood: nervous
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