**The ideal golfing outfit for any day on the links. Stylish, rugged, and just the right amount of pizzaz. Three combinations to choose from, who can resist?**

Kiss Me, I'm Irish!!

...so says my new shirt. I love it, and am not sure why. Maybe because I have a semi-witty comeback for people who challenge my Irish origin. No, don't think you get to hear it free, you too must confront me in order to experience my response. Oo, and plus I love it that much more because i made Galen yell it out his window today. Altho he cheated and will eventually have to pay the consequences. Somehow.

Today was spent mostly in pajamas. Once out of those, i graduated to jeans and a st. patty's day tshirt and headed outside for some sports and recreation. These included passing my football, pretending to paintball (by myself, with an unloaded, uncharged marker), and chipping wiffle balls with an 8 iron in the front yard. I forgot myself a couple of times and removed large strips of turf from the yard -- this is a bad thing because my mom's stress relief/pride and joy is our landscaping soooooo...hopefully noone notices. I tried to put it all back...This talk of golfing and wiffle balls makes me want to go to a thrift store to purchase some proper golfing attire. A ratty checker sweater, long flanel shorts, huge socks, and a beret with that little yarn ball on top ought to do the trick. Hmm, pipe or cigar? Hmmm...

I think I'm ready to go back to school. Break has thoroughly tuckered me out, and I think that's the sign it's time to go back -- when the break is wearing you out. A relentless, merciless routine would almost be nice for a change. If only that $66 library fine wasn't there waiting for me. :)

North Carolina won tonite. I'm that much closer, steve. That much closer.

Does anyone miss Tom Brokaw?

Hmmm

By golly, it works...(www.photobucket.com)

Hello!

Happy is summersaulting down the frozen foods aisle and racing in the pouring rain to be the first to touch five cars.

There's nothing in my pockets. I don't even have pockets. There are, however, waffles in the kitchen.

Three miles. The pain started in his calves and spread steadily to the hamstrings, hip, and then to his abdomen. Breathing hard, Chadwick struggled not to gasp for air as he cast sidelong glances at his younger brother, Alchem. Alchem's long strides looked easy and fluid, his face stoic and relaxed. His blue baseball cap had a print of a tiger, its paw poised and threatening. Chadwick's hair stuck to his face-slick with sweat.

Three and a half miles. His chest growing tighter, he struggled to breathe without feeling suffocated by some crushing force. His hips began to feel unsteady and disjointed, body leaning side to side-unable to keep a balance. It required a paramount effort just to keep up with Alchem, who's expression betrayed not even the slightest hint of fatigue-his lips barely parted as if he was merely sampling the air rather then sucking it in bellows like his partner.

Four miles. Chadwick's arms hurt. His arms? "Why do my arms hurt?" All he knew was that they did. His triceps, biceps, even his shoulders. This occupied his thoughts for a moment before the pain moved to his neck and the nightmare was complete. A hundred thousand needles poked every pore, sawed at every muscle, and pulled at every hair. His body was one huge ache-lungs burned for air and he had to concentrate to keep from drifting into the middle of the road. Thud. Thud. Thud. Feet pounding pavement there was no end in sight, and he began to regret suggesting the exercise. Alchem lengthened his stride.

Four and a half miles. Chadwick had nothing left-what did they call this? The wall? He'd heard that he was supposed to break through the wall-that everything was easier on the other side. "Wall...if you have to get through the wall, who's bright idea was it to build it in the first place?" He cursed whoever's bright idea it was. It became a simple matter of pride-could he tell Alchem that he had to stop? Could he exchange his ego for the rest that had suddenly become as important as life itself?

Four and three-quarter miles. He did. "Stop." One word. One word that failed himself, his brother, and his sport. Did it? Tomorrow he'll run five. Then six. Run beside him, if only for a moment -- he is challenging fear. Are you?


**
Alternative ending for recent events:
Four and three-quarter miles. He did. "Stop" One word. One word that had echoed in his mind for every step. That had haunted him, egged him, challenged him, tempted him. One word that changed it all -- a few will say he's failed and abandon him to look for someone else who will carry the torch of medriocrity. Those who look harder will not find him panting, exhausted, counting mile markers; but soaring beyond their meager marathon. Fly beside him, if only for a moment -- he is challenging fear. Are you?
**

-this one's for you, sam.

Which fear should I choose then?

That I will?

That I must?

or

That I won't?

10:27 pm

And I'm wearing the biggest, goofy-est smile ever. The girl studying across from me must be frightened. :)

WOOOOOO-HOOOOOOOO!!!

Friday Coffee

Ppssshhh,
a frothy foam
rises to the surface
and pours into your cup
of life.

Clunk, bam

the scoop of

used espresso ends its

journey and is emptied

into trash.

Be careful

disguise the pain

with syrups, milk, and water

sip your life slowly

with caution.

No joy

swirled with peace

mellow, bitter, and quiet

slow at first-then in swigs

it hurts.

Savor it

this cup that speaks

of your life precisely,

too much for you?

drink tea.