  Sorrow and joy,  I am both and torn,  as well.  I have sorrow today.  Sorrow,  sorrow,
 I feel its soft and unbreakable chain tugging a relentless row about my frame once again,  and this time Lady Sadness is unceasing,  for I have created something that,  I think,  cannot be undone by any likes which I may ever posess,  no matter what anyone says.
 What has happened,  has happened.  My sadness is incessant.  I have joy today.  Most prominent in my mind:  coming into this class from a brutally short break,
 sitting down extremely tired but nonetheless feeling a tingling of caffeine from an early morning fix,  and with much joy,  and much to my extreme shock,  tells me I won the cover design contest for the school play,  and most of the innards of the program.  Considering the effort I put into this.
my joy at confundling the masses with the greatest fonts ever,  " Rage Italic"  and " Blackadder ATI ( or something to that extent)
 comes to no end.  And I am with joy because of the sun.  This morning I woke to voices.  It was early,  they were in my ear,  voices,
 voices,  it was Vietnamese,  and I couldn't understand any of it,  and suddenly the phone clicked as I had expected,  as it does every morning prior,  and I happened to see the sky above my pillow-
covered head.  ( what is that,  light?  I stared at it uncomprehendingly for a minute,  and just as suddenly drifted into a fiftul doze littered with haunted thoughts of that very night,
 the one that stimulated my sorrow.  But again,  voices ( I hung up the phone,  it's away from me)  voices traversing the hall and through my (
opened?  door,  I heard my sister and mother talking at about 5: 30 and could not help but sit and wonder at it all,  what was wrong with this day,  besides the fact that life may have permanently changed overnight?
 I looked outside ,  I found the answer.  There,  the sky was a light and billowing pastel canvas,  the blue was a drape of cyan silk about the fleeting cloud- blotched horizon.
 And there was light,  a light that I hadn't seen in days and days,  knowing somehow that it will never come back,  and knowing otherwise all the same.  I could not yet see it,  but I felt it,
 and I felt as if something was a- right with the world again,  the gray days of February gone forever,  into a spring with light,  not the dull gray curtain that ne'er ceased to infect my soul with it bitter dirge of melancholy playing an incessant chord on my mind.  And in spite of everything that had happened last night and before that,
 for the greatness of the weekend,  in which many things were found and resolved in myself,  I hung my head and shook it back and forth,  half joy and sorrow,  throwing my burning tears about the window and the ceil with ragged gasps and sobs,  only quiet enough so as to be heard by no one but me,
 I cried and rocked myself with my arms locked on the window ceil and felt as if I had one wing broken and one wing above all wings,  and I sat,  waiting to decide whether to risk flying or stay grounded forever.  I cried and rocked myself back and forth,  the sway a light breeze against my muscles,  all taut and burning with long-
surpressed anguish and despair,  I cried and rocked myself and told myself that many things had been resolved,  and that nothing is ever quite over,  so long as one does not forget,  I cried and rocked myself and made a vow with myself that I would never forget what had happened here with anyone,  that I had learned somethings so bizarre and useful,
 and at such a price,  oh what a price I have paid,  and slowly dying I surrendered my poisoned soul as it fades to gray. does it sound familiar?  No wonder now,  why I wrote it,
 I felt as if there some venom inhibiting my ability to love and live,  and suddenly I have found it,  it was myself and my discontentment with imperfection. even in this discontent is complete imperfection,  it is impossible to strive for perfect in this world.  If it ends,
 it cannot be perfect enough.  I gasped a last time,  I swallowed the rest of whatever wanted to inhibit my acting as a composed human,  rubbed dry my eyes and walked out the door to the shower,  thinking I would never reach such a low again,  thinking that I can do better with myself,
 thinking that I will take control with the advent of last night,  somehow,  with or without what I had before I began this mad cycle of ups and downs in life.  I turned on the water and inhaled the scents of a new morning and sighed long,  perhaps theatrically,  taking my time and letting the heat entrance me and fascinate my reddening skin,
 I inhaled the steam and the soap and the dew and the dawn.  And another day began.
