the sky's still blue, we're still breathing oxygen, and i still don't own the ppg (oh, but someday. . . SOMEDAY. . . *clenches fist and grins like a madman*)
yes i updated. yes it's been about a month. no it's not the end. yes it's short. sorry, but i figured i need to post a little bit before people totally forget about this fic altogether ^^; um. . . kendall makes her first appearance. interpret her as you will, but i kinda like her O_o
and if you're just ITCHING for some real romance, try hanging around till next week. by then i should have the next part up *but i wouldn't hold my breath, just in case ¬ ¬*
on a lighter note, my finals are almost done! so more writing! woot! alright, enough rambling. . .
-jen
"love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within."
-james baldwin
(thought it seemed to fit for buttercup, at least in this story)
*A Skirt for Sunday Evening* pt. III
~-songbirdjen-~
Kendall.
What can I say about Kendall?
She's petite. Fair-skinned, dark hair, dark eyes. Easy on the vision, I guess, but no bombshell. She does have a beautiful smile.
She wears whatever's in her closet, which is basically a bit of everything. One day she'll dress totally in black, all dramatic like. Another day she'll go for the peasant girl look, with the patchwork skirt and flower-appliquéd top. And another day she'll toss on jeans and a t-shirt and still look fabulous in the morning. She doesn't wear makeup. She doesn't need makeup.
She's really quite an admirable person. She smiles, and the world turns. The world turns a lot too, since she smiles all the time. She's an artist: writes poetry, paints watercolors, sews. She cooks. She helps anyone and everyone. She'll fly you to the sun, teach you an alien language, and, if you ask nicely, show you how to make the moon rise at two pm on a Saturday afternoon in summer with a thimble in your pocket and a blow pop in your cheek. She only says "I love you" when she means it.
I haven't asked Butch about that one yet, but then again it's none of my business.
Kendall's amazing. Kendall's wonderful. Kendall's beautiful, inside and out. She's become like a sister to me, not a friend (remember, I have no female friends) and yet she's so different from my real sisters that I don't even know WHAT she classifies as. She's the kind of girl that brings me soup when I'm sick, and would be happy to give me the world if only I asked for it.
But if I had the guts to ask her anything, it wouldn't be for the world. It'd be for something much bigger.
I don't blame her for being Butch's girlfriend. I don't blame Butch for being her boyfriend. Hell, if I were a guy, Kendall would be the type of girl I'd fall in love with too.
But love isn't the type of thing I want to be thinking about right now.
***
Which is actually kind of difficult when the object of my said affection is a mere ten inches away from me. Holding my hand.
"Hold up a moment, Buttercup," he says, steering me away from the main hall to a door on our left. Kendall's dorm. "Lemme check in with Kendall real quick." He sharply raps "Shave and a Haircut" on her door. Butch never knocks once, or twice, like a normal person. His knocks have to have personality.
"Coming! Just give me a sec. . . " a muffled voice comes from the other side of the door, a light Scottish accent to it. Kendall calls herself a mutt since her ancestors came from all over the continent of Europe. "I'll be right there!" The voice speaks again, sounding a bit British this time. The doorknob starts to turn, and gazing down I abruptly notice that my hand is still encased in Butch's. Hastily I snatch it away and place my hands over my lap, well aware that Kendall really wouldn't mind anyway, but even so. . .
Butch turns to stare at me curiously as the door swings open, upon which he swivels his head back to the front. Kendall's eyebrows lift in raptured surprise as she gazes at the two of us. Or maybe just Butch. Speaking of which, he grins. "Good morning, starshine," he greets, bending to kiss her cheek.
I skillfully avert my eyes without turning my head.
Instead of waiting for his lips to brush her skin, though, Kendall steps over to me and gives me a hug. "Might I say, Buttercup," she starts, stepping back and flashing a white-toothed smile, "that you look absolutely FABULOUS."
Out of surprise and embarrassment, I redden a bit, my eyes widening. "Um. . . thanks," I mumble, staring at Kendall, who smiles kindly at me. I wait expectantly for her to ask me something like "What the hell are you doing dressed like THAT!" or "My GOD, where'd you pick up a SKIRT" but she's instilled with a very European nonchalance for courtesy, and I'm actually quite relieved she doesn't say more on the subject.
"Hey, I thought you were MY girlfriend," Butch whines in the background. Kendall responds by backing into the doorway, beckoning us to come in.
"YOU didn't take the time to dress nice to come see me," she states regally, indicating his loose jeans, plain white t-shirt, and faded green plaid button down shirt, unbuttoned. A green jade pendant hangs on a chain around his neck, one I gave him last Christmas.
"Well, I SHOWERED," he retorts, spreading his arms. "Don't I at least get a hug?"
Kendall rolls her eyes and looks meaningfully at me, her gaze saying "Boys are impossible" and steps into his embrace.
"Alright," Butch grins triumphantly and dives for her neck. Kendall promptly kicks him in the shins.
"Don't be so rude when I have company," she scolds playfully, then turns to me. "Can I get you anything? A glass of juice or something to eat?"
"No," I say a bit hastily, feeling uncomfortable, though whether it's due to my outfit or the atmosphere I can't tell. "No thanks, I'm fine. We just stopped by because Butch. . . " I trailed off. "What DID we come here for anyway, Butch?"
Rubbing his injured shin ("Oh, I didn't kick you THAT hard," Kendall says), he straightens and answers, "Just wanted to let you know I'm packed for tomorrow and won't be home till later tonight."
"That's right, you guys have your date today," Kendall says thoughtfully, and I wince when I hear the word 'date.' I get the strange feeling Kendall catches this, and abruptly she says, "Well, I've still got some last minute tidying to do, so you guys go enjoy yourselves and I'll catch you tomorrow morning, Butch. And you, Buttercup," she adds. "You ARE coming to the airport tomorrow to see us off, aren't you?"
I blink, then casually reply, "Of course! Wouldn't miss it for the world."
Kendall smiles a bit and gazes almost. . . well, sadly at me. "I know," she says quietly, then, just as suddenly as she became serious, grins again and says, "Well, you two better head off and not waste a minute today. Try to cram a summer's worth of fun into the hours you have left before tomorrow." She ushers us out the door, quickly pecking Butch on the cheek. Then she turns to me. "You look beautiful, sweetheart. I hope you get it. Really, all you would have to do is ask me, you know?"
My brow furrows in confusion. "Get what? Ask what?"
But being the ever present enigma she is, Kendall only smiles, waves goodbye, and quietly shuts her door.
***
"And we're off," Butch announces, putting his gold '98 Mustang GT into gear. The engine revs and purrs contentedly, ready to terrorize another lucky thousand or so innocent onlookers for the day.
Not that Butch is a bad driver. It's just. . . well, let's just say that after being in the front passenger seat of Butch's vehicle with him behind the wheel, diving off the top of a waterfall whose height rivals that of a thirty-story building with sharp pointy rocks lining the bottom seems pretty tame.
I take a deep breath and instantly click my seatbelt on. Then I take another deep breath, squeezing my eyes shut and exhaling slowly. "Ok," I whisper, my eyes still shut, "I'm ready." I lift my eyelids a bit and turn to find Butch giving me a funny look.
"Honestly, Buttercup. I'm not THAT bad a driver."
And then he grins sadistically and floors the gas, propelling us from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds.
"YOU MANIAC!" I shriek as we swerve, squealing out of the campus' parking lot with Butch, ever cool as ice, barely turning the wheel.
***
Once we get on the freeway and Butch stops counting off to me the list of reasons why I should relax when I'm in the car with him ("You know, it's hard for me to concentrate when you hyperventilate like that, Buttercup,"), we start talking about what we're gonna do for the day. Well, more like he starts talking. I'm sitting over here trying to will my heart to start pumping blood to my body again.
"So," he starts, casually flicking the turn signal on and swerving into the right lane, ignoring the cacophony of horns and protests resulting in the cars behind him, "I was thinking we should go to the mall."
I immediately snap to attention. "What?! The MALL?"
With an elbow crooked out the window and his right hand caressing the wheel, he only nods. "What for?" I sputter. "Out of all the things we could do today--"
"I have plans," he says smoothly, a hint of a smirk barely visible on his face. "And you can't argue with me, because it's MY last day for the summer."
I snort. "What a load of bullshit."
"Not really. I'll be paying for it all."
My breath catches in my throat. He sits, eyes on the road, fixed in stony contemplation of the cars ahead.
*So. . . technically. . . this IS a DATE.*
You know how you can tell when the silence is too loud? When your heartbeat deafens your ears.
Of course, ever being the opportunist he is, Butch chooses this time to break said silence.
"Besides, that skirt you're wearing didn't have a pocket for your wallet anyway, and I seriously doubt you had a purse under your pillow along with the shoes and skirt and breasts you've been hiding from me."
I smack him as he takes the exit that will lead us to the mall.
***
"You have GOT to be kidding me," I say incredulously, the corners of my mouth curling in disgust.
"Oh, but Buttercup," Butch steps in between me and the enrance to the resident mall's beauty parlor, grinning sinisterly, "you've had that same hairstyle since we were kids. Don't you think it's time for a change?" His hand lightly brushes the shoulder length black strands, and as much as the thought of him playing with my hair thrills me my pride wins over.
"I'll keep my hair the way it is, and if you don't like it you can shove it up your--"
"Well, good morning, folks!" One of the male stylists has inconspicuously approached us in the hopes of bestowing upon either one of us a new physical monstrosity atop our heads. "Is there anything I can do for you lovely two today?" he questions cheerfully, acting a bit too eerily fem for my tastes.
Butch, of course, is totally unfazed. "So glad you asked. This dull young lady here was hoping for something new to commemorate--"
"Oh, no! I"m not letting anybody touch my head!" I turn and head for the mall's exit, fully intending to hotwire the Mustang if that's what it takes to get out of here. Butch, however, has other plans. He zips to my side in a blinding streak of green, grabs me around the waist, and before I know it I'm seated back in the salon, struggling fruitlessly to escape.
He has me pinned with my arms to my sides, a look of thorough amusement on his face. I'm just about to knee him in the gut when he leans in to my cheek and says softly, "Come on, Buttercup. Just for today?" A smile plays upon his lips as he speaks, and all the air escapes from my lungs as his breath gently puffs on my cheek. Once again I find it difficult to breathe, and the silence becomes deafening, my heart beating furiously and the heat rising to my skin.
Numb, I feel my muscles slacken, and once they do he releases his grip on me and stands back, a smile ever present on his face. The stylist, already wrapping a cloth around my neck and humming to himself, asks, "So what are you looking to have done, honey?"
When I don't answer, he turns to Butch. "Don't cut the hair or highlight it," I hear him say. "Don't want anything permanent, just a little something to last the day or so. Other than that, my only request is to. . . 'impress me.'"
"You?!" I scoff, finding my voice again. "What about ME? This isn't YOUR hair, you know."
"Oh, don't worry, honey," says the stylist--no, Kris with a 'K,' I note, my eye catching his name tag clipped to his shirt. "I'll take good care of your hair and make you the happiest girl alive for stepping in here!" He giggles, WAY more feminine than any gay male, or even straight female for that matter, should.
"Work your creative magic, man," Butch's voice calls as he goes to sit and flip through some magazines.
"Oh, believe me," Kris responds with a grin, raising the chair and tipping it back so he can wash my hair, "you WON'T be disappointed." I only grumble a bit, but don't protest as Kris with a 'K' starts pulling out bottles of shampoo and conditioner.
"By the way--" I hear Butch start again, and groan.
"NOW what do you want him to--"
All of a sudden Butch's face is hovering inches from mine, his pretty bright green eyes penetrating my glare, and my expression melts. "Thank you," he says, smiling his genuine smile. I can still smell faint traces of the soap he used this morning, and the shampoo, too; he's so close. A mere inch away, so if either of us shifted. . .
His pendant drops onto my neck, the cool jade almost like a kiss on my skin. Then he takes his leave once more.
My heartbeat deafens my ears.
*end pt. III*
and that's kind of a. . . shitty way to end this part, but oh well. wasn't intending to end there but i still have that one final project to work on @-@ nrgh! flash is a BITCH to work with, by the way. i've noticed a trend with "k" names--first kendall, now kris. and please don't mind if there are any typos in here *cringes and blushes* i get all mad and embarrassed-like when i screw up, but it's past midnight and. . . um, stuff, so i wanna go to sleep and. . . um, more stuff, so i don't feel like proofing right now ^^;
and btw, for those of you waiting for the "being moody" series. . . i hope you're really really REALLY patient people. . . *coughs nervously*
'tis all. . . reviews inspire me to write, so don't hesitate to drop a line in the little box!
yes i updated. yes it's been about a month. no it's not the end. yes it's short. sorry, but i figured i need to post a little bit before people totally forget about this fic altogether ^^; um. . . kendall makes her first appearance. interpret her as you will, but i kinda like her O_o
and if you're just ITCHING for some real romance, try hanging around till next week. by then i should have the next part up *but i wouldn't hold my breath, just in case ¬ ¬*
on a lighter note, my finals are almost done! so more writing! woot! alright, enough rambling. . .
-jen
"love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within."
-james baldwin
(thought it seemed to fit for buttercup, at least in this story)
*A Skirt for Sunday Evening* pt. III
~-songbirdjen-~
Kendall.
What can I say about Kendall?
She's petite. Fair-skinned, dark hair, dark eyes. Easy on the vision, I guess, but no bombshell. She does have a beautiful smile.
She wears whatever's in her closet, which is basically a bit of everything. One day she'll dress totally in black, all dramatic like. Another day she'll go for the peasant girl look, with the patchwork skirt and flower-appliquéd top. And another day she'll toss on jeans and a t-shirt and still look fabulous in the morning. She doesn't wear makeup. She doesn't need makeup.
She's really quite an admirable person. She smiles, and the world turns. The world turns a lot too, since she smiles all the time. She's an artist: writes poetry, paints watercolors, sews. She cooks. She helps anyone and everyone. She'll fly you to the sun, teach you an alien language, and, if you ask nicely, show you how to make the moon rise at two pm on a Saturday afternoon in summer with a thimble in your pocket and a blow pop in your cheek. She only says "I love you" when she means it.
I haven't asked Butch about that one yet, but then again it's none of my business.
Kendall's amazing. Kendall's wonderful. Kendall's beautiful, inside and out. She's become like a sister to me, not a friend (remember, I have no female friends) and yet she's so different from my real sisters that I don't even know WHAT she classifies as. She's the kind of girl that brings me soup when I'm sick, and would be happy to give me the world if only I asked for it.
But if I had the guts to ask her anything, it wouldn't be for the world. It'd be for something much bigger.
I don't blame her for being Butch's girlfriend. I don't blame Butch for being her boyfriend. Hell, if I were a guy, Kendall would be the type of girl I'd fall in love with too.
But love isn't the type of thing I want to be thinking about right now.
***
Which is actually kind of difficult when the object of my said affection is a mere ten inches away from me. Holding my hand.
"Hold up a moment, Buttercup," he says, steering me away from the main hall to a door on our left. Kendall's dorm. "Lemme check in with Kendall real quick." He sharply raps "Shave and a Haircut" on her door. Butch never knocks once, or twice, like a normal person. His knocks have to have personality.
"Coming! Just give me a sec. . . " a muffled voice comes from the other side of the door, a light Scottish accent to it. Kendall calls herself a mutt since her ancestors came from all over the continent of Europe. "I'll be right there!" The voice speaks again, sounding a bit British this time. The doorknob starts to turn, and gazing down I abruptly notice that my hand is still encased in Butch's. Hastily I snatch it away and place my hands over my lap, well aware that Kendall really wouldn't mind anyway, but even so. . .
Butch turns to stare at me curiously as the door swings open, upon which he swivels his head back to the front. Kendall's eyebrows lift in raptured surprise as she gazes at the two of us. Or maybe just Butch. Speaking of which, he grins. "Good morning, starshine," he greets, bending to kiss her cheek.
I skillfully avert my eyes without turning my head.
Instead of waiting for his lips to brush her skin, though, Kendall steps over to me and gives me a hug. "Might I say, Buttercup," she starts, stepping back and flashing a white-toothed smile, "that you look absolutely FABULOUS."
Out of surprise and embarrassment, I redden a bit, my eyes widening. "Um. . . thanks," I mumble, staring at Kendall, who smiles kindly at me. I wait expectantly for her to ask me something like "What the hell are you doing dressed like THAT!" or "My GOD, where'd you pick up a SKIRT" but she's instilled with a very European nonchalance for courtesy, and I'm actually quite relieved she doesn't say more on the subject.
"Hey, I thought you were MY girlfriend," Butch whines in the background. Kendall responds by backing into the doorway, beckoning us to come in.
"YOU didn't take the time to dress nice to come see me," she states regally, indicating his loose jeans, plain white t-shirt, and faded green plaid button down shirt, unbuttoned. A green jade pendant hangs on a chain around his neck, one I gave him last Christmas.
"Well, I SHOWERED," he retorts, spreading his arms. "Don't I at least get a hug?"
Kendall rolls her eyes and looks meaningfully at me, her gaze saying "Boys are impossible" and steps into his embrace.
"Alright," Butch grins triumphantly and dives for her neck. Kendall promptly kicks him in the shins.
"Don't be so rude when I have company," she scolds playfully, then turns to me. "Can I get you anything? A glass of juice or something to eat?"
"No," I say a bit hastily, feeling uncomfortable, though whether it's due to my outfit or the atmosphere I can't tell. "No thanks, I'm fine. We just stopped by because Butch. . . " I trailed off. "What DID we come here for anyway, Butch?"
Rubbing his injured shin ("Oh, I didn't kick you THAT hard," Kendall says), he straightens and answers, "Just wanted to let you know I'm packed for tomorrow and won't be home till later tonight."
"That's right, you guys have your date today," Kendall says thoughtfully, and I wince when I hear the word 'date.' I get the strange feeling Kendall catches this, and abruptly she says, "Well, I've still got some last minute tidying to do, so you guys go enjoy yourselves and I'll catch you tomorrow morning, Butch. And you, Buttercup," she adds. "You ARE coming to the airport tomorrow to see us off, aren't you?"
I blink, then casually reply, "Of course! Wouldn't miss it for the world."
Kendall smiles a bit and gazes almost. . . well, sadly at me. "I know," she says quietly, then, just as suddenly as she became serious, grins again and says, "Well, you two better head off and not waste a minute today. Try to cram a summer's worth of fun into the hours you have left before tomorrow." She ushers us out the door, quickly pecking Butch on the cheek. Then she turns to me. "You look beautiful, sweetheart. I hope you get it. Really, all you would have to do is ask me, you know?"
My brow furrows in confusion. "Get what? Ask what?"
But being the ever present enigma she is, Kendall only smiles, waves goodbye, and quietly shuts her door.
***
"And we're off," Butch announces, putting his gold '98 Mustang GT into gear. The engine revs and purrs contentedly, ready to terrorize another lucky thousand or so innocent onlookers for the day.
Not that Butch is a bad driver. It's just. . . well, let's just say that after being in the front passenger seat of Butch's vehicle with him behind the wheel, diving off the top of a waterfall whose height rivals that of a thirty-story building with sharp pointy rocks lining the bottom seems pretty tame.
I take a deep breath and instantly click my seatbelt on. Then I take another deep breath, squeezing my eyes shut and exhaling slowly. "Ok," I whisper, my eyes still shut, "I'm ready." I lift my eyelids a bit and turn to find Butch giving me a funny look.
"Honestly, Buttercup. I'm not THAT bad a driver."
And then he grins sadistically and floors the gas, propelling us from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds.
"YOU MANIAC!" I shriek as we swerve, squealing out of the campus' parking lot with Butch, ever cool as ice, barely turning the wheel.
***
Once we get on the freeway and Butch stops counting off to me the list of reasons why I should relax when I'm in the car with him ("You know, it's hard for me to concentrate when you hyperventilate like that, Buttercup,"), we start talking about what we're gonna do for the day. Well, more like he starts talking. I'm sitting over here trying to will my heart to start pumping blood to my body again.
"So," he starts, casually flicking the turn signal on and swerving into the right lane, ignoring the cacophony of horns and protests resulting in the cars behind him, "I was thinking we should go to the mall."
I immediately snap to attention. "What?! The MALL?"
With an elbow crooked out the window and his right hand caressing the wheel, he only nods. "What for?" I sputter. "Out of all the things we could do today--"
"I have plans," he says smoothly, a hint of a smirk barely visible on his face. "And you can't argue with me, because it's MY last day for the summer."
I snort. "What a load of bullshit."
"Not really. I'll be paying for it all."
My breath catches in my throat. He sits, eyes on the road, fixed in stony contemplation of the cars ahead.
*So. . . technically. . . this IS a DATE.*
You know how you can tell when the silence is too loud? When your heartbeat deafens your ears.
Of course, ever being the opportunist he is, Butch chooses this time to break said silence.
"Besides, that skirt you're wearing didn't have a pocket for your wallet anyway, and I seriously doubt you had a purse under your pillow along with the shoes and skirt and breasts you've been hiding from me."
I smack him as he takes the exit that will lead us to the mall.
***
"You have GOT to be kidding me," I say incredulously, the corners of my mouth curling in disgust.
"Oh, but Buttercup," Butch steps in between me and the enrance to the resident mall's beauty parlor, grinning sinisterly, "you've had that same hairstyle since we were kids. Don't you think it's time for a change?" His hand lightly brushes the shoulder length black strands, and as much as the thought of him playing with my hair thrills me my pride wins over.
"I'll keep my hair the way it is, and if you don't like it you can shove it up your--"
"Well, good morning, folks!" One of the male stylists has inconspicuously approached us in the hopes of bestowing upon either one of us a new physical monstrosity atop our heads. "Is there anything I can do for you lovely two today?" he questions cheerfully, acting a bit too eerily fem for my tastes.
Butch, of course, is totally unfazed. "So glad you asked. This dull young lady here was hoping for something new to commemorate--"
"Oh, no! I"m not letting anybody touch my head!" I turn and head for the mall's exit, fully intending to hotwire the Mustang if that's what it takes to get out of here. Butch, however, has other plans. He zips to my side in a blinding streak of green, grabs me around the waist, and before I know it I'm seated back in the salon, struggling fruitlessly to escape.
He has me pinned with my arms to my sides, a look of thorough amusement on his face. I'm just about to knee him in the gut when he leans in to my cheek and says softly, "Come on, Buttercup. Just for today?" A smile plays upon his lips as he speaks, and all the air escapes from my lungs as his breath gently puffs on my cheek. Once again I find it difficult to breathe, and the silence becomes deafening, my heart beating furiously and the heat rising to my skin.
Numb, I feel my muscles slacken, and once they do he releases his grip on me and stands back, a smile ever present on his face. The stylist, already wrapping a cloth around my neck and humming to himself, asks, "So what are you looking to have done, honey?"
When I don't answer, he turns to Butch. "Don't cut the hair or highlight it," I hear him say. "Don't want anything permanent, just a little something to last the day or so. Other than that, my only request is to. . . 'impress me.'"
"You?!" I scoff, finding my voice again. "What about ME? This isn't YOUR hair, you know."
"Oh, don't worry, honey," says the stylist--no, Kris with a 'K,' I note, my eye catching his name tag clipped to his shirt. "I'll take good care of your hair and make you the happiest girl alive for stepping in here!" He giggles, WAY more feminine than any gay male, or even straight female for that matter, should.
"Work your creative magic, man," Butch's voice calls as he goes to sit and flip through some magazines.
"Oh, believe me," Kris responds with a grin, raising the chair and tipping it back so he can wash my hair, "you WON'T be disappointed." I only grumble a bit, but don't protest as Kris with a 'K' starts pulling out bottles of shampoo and conditioner.
"By the way--" I hear Butch start again, and groan.
"NOW what do you want him to--"
All of a sudden Butch's face is hovering inches from mine, his pretty bright green eyes penetrating my glare, and my expression melts. "Thank you," he says, smiling his genuine smile. I can still smell faint traces of the soap he used this morning, and the shampoo, too; he's so close. A mere inch away, so if either of us shifted. . .
His pendant drops onto my neck, the cool jade almost like a kiss on my skin. Then he takes his leave once more.
My heartbeat deafens my ears.
*end pt. III*
and that's kind of a. . . shitty way to end this part, but oh well. wasn't intending to end there but i still have that one final project to work on @-@ nrgh! flash is a BITCH to work with, by the way. i've noticed a trend with "k" names--first kendall, now kris. and please don't mind if there are any typos in here *cringes and blushes* i get all mad and embarrassed-like when i screw up, but it's past midnight and. . . um, stuff, so i wanna go to sleep and. . . um, more stuff, so i don't feel like proofing right now ^^;
and btw, for those of you waiting for the "being moody" series. . . i hope you're really really REALLY patient people. . . *coughs nervously*
'tis all. . . reviews inspire me to write, so don't hesitate to drop a line in the little box!