Cliff.

I have begun a new tradition this past week. I ask my little brother at some point in the day,
"Why don't you go write a book?"
Usually he looks at me and responds in disdain. Today he told me that he couldn't write a book because he's not a girl.
I digress. Before this morning I was not aware that only women can write.

Mandy is watching an Amish movie. It is somewhat frustrating to me because I have been reading "Ender's Game" again and I dreamed about the old west last night. The Amish movie has absolutely no buggers in it or super intelligent six year olds or rugged cowboys who are shot in the chest. The only good thing about it is  the wood floors.

 I had an important party to go to yesterday. I forgot about it. Either I was reading about Peter trying to murder Ender and then whispering that he loved him in the middle of the night, or I was buying small lavender plants for my garden this summer with Maman. It was a time of recognition, the party I mean. I swear I forgot. But I think that on an unconscious level, I didn't go because I don't like to be recognized.
I used to be inherently shy. If I could get out of doing something in which people would notice me, I would do it. But subtly, slowly, I have grown out of that. As it matters less to me what people think of me, I'm more willing to let them notice my existence. I am more willing to speak about cowboy dreams and sci-fi novels. I could go on and on about wooden floorboards if you asked me to. I might even share some of my writing with you, and converse about my wishes that my little brother will one day write something as well. I'll show you my pictures if you ask. And if I like you at all, I'll let you inside of my head and tell you about the things I haven't written down or drawn yet. But I still dislike being noticed for something I have done.
Yesterday proves that.
The truth is, I would be fine. I would be fine alone. Writing alone. Drawing and painting alone. With a small house and lavender and lilacs. A nice desk under a huge, bright window. Without anyone to look at what I've done or what I'm doing or hear about what I will do. I would be fine.
I was fine yesterday.
But I think it is a bad thing. Because if I did that, if I shut myself away and did what I enjoyed and never showed a soul, I would be almost Amish. And the only thing I like about the Amish lifestyle is the wooden floors.

I am planning to wake up one morning, and my little brother will look at me after I ask him if he's going to write a book today, and he'll say, "yes." And we will both show people the things we do. The things we make. We will not hide them away in our heads and suitcases.
At least this is my plan. But it's not going so well after yesterday.

I told you I dreamed of a cowboy who got shot. His name was Cliff. He was laying on some hardwood bleeding to death. A woman named Flora was trying to save him.
I think it ended well.
I can't remember.