有点恶心

很久没有写日志了~因为~忙疯了——这是一篇很长的日志，因为有一个月。

有点恶心 — Mon, 6 Oct 2008 15:22:20 +0800

哈，说起来有些惭愧，校内网，开心网，天天买卖奴隶，养狗，抓老鼠，忙疯了，不过热潮已经过去，校内的狗狗已经不太有耐心继续玩下去了，最近，光光在看一个男孩成长为一个男人的故事，这就是金庸著名的《神雕侠侣》~古天乐演的不错，不过好多情节我都已经忘记，因为那是十多年前的记忆了。不禁感叹一下时光的飞逝，逝去就逝去吧，以飞的速度还真是有些受不了！

（脚穿高跟鞋，每个脚趾头上都磨了一个泡，并且全破了，已经两次这样了，现在磨破的地方终于好了些）

这一个多月经常去学校，也经常去徐徐那，也经常去面试，也经常逛街，也经常做很多好吃的。

现在发觉工作是缓解经济状况的一剂良药，不仅仅因为上班赚钱，而是上班就不会有那么多的时间花钱了，或者说去琢磨花钱，现在绝对是天天琢磨怎么花钱，琢磨买些什么，怪不得全职母亲抱怨家穷的多呢~

最近开始看日语，开始逛动物园批发，开始琢磨服装搭配，开始多做好吃的，开始…对了，这两天开始看nana了。

天气
天冷了，起初天气的变化让我很兴奋，不过没兴奋多久就忘记了，因为持续的凉让人像泥鳅一样，想钻进什么里！

发生很多
这一个多月发生了很多事情，神七，牛奶，金融危机，美售台武器等等，对于我而言其实也一样，外表看上去好像所有事情都没有变，但我相信事情的本质已经在改变了。我也在等待属于我的那一切的到来。学会等待是一件很不容易的事！

十一
十一期间人多为患，去了趟动物园，人山人海，明显动物被人包围了，挤进人群好不容易才拍到大熊猫，下面上图一张

我和企鹅！！那人叫一个多啊，因为企鹅馆是另花钱进去的。看我照片左下方那个小孩，人太多了，小孩都趴在玻璃上不动弹！！！

我的脸实在太显胖了，疯了，还是43公斤呢，脸看上去有上百斤的感觉！！气愤中……
不过值得一提的是身上条纹的衣服是在动物园市场十元钱买的，我穿上是不是有不下百元的感觉呢？！~外面的马夹要感谢我家艳子，七月回家的时候她帮我看上的，基本她看上的衣服都会让着我，让给我买下来！

NANA真的很好看，里面的音乐也喜欢~对了，这个月很重要的事情是练歌，真没有唱歌的天赋，跑调问题并不严重，而是唱出来非常的不好听，而且绝对的低音派，只能唱男人的歌，学起来觉得齐秦和张信哲的都比较容易，学友的也还行，杨丞琳的《左边》怎么那么普通啊，学完了的感觉就是也没啥子调子嘛！周董的魔杰座专辑我很想买，哈，都是摩羯座的嘛，我喜欢《稻香》还有《给我一首歌的时间》，不过稻香的mv拍得真是挺难受！

总结：

让我改变自己真的有些困难，但是我的原则是：1，那样对我好；2，改变后的我会更讨我喜欢和我崇拜。那么，我可以改变成那个样子。

我现在就是不再着急，不再逼着自己去学英语啊之类的，随便吧哈我相信我慢慢来，等属于我的世纪到来的时候，一切会更加明亮，我的眼睛真的很明亮，像孩子一样，但那永不消逝的红血丝是年龄和经历的见证！

我期待我内心的宽容可以给我快乐可以给我实现理想的机会。

宽容自我中……

批判久远的被期待

有点恶心 — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 16:35:14 +0800

不被重视算是一种痛苦，现在看来，被期待也是一种痛——大部分男人的痛。

所以，我不该对任何人有所期待，自己不爱自己，就没人会爱。

自己对自己的爱是那么的赤诚，而学会爱自己是走进这个外星球的第一步。我终于懂得。

懂得一件事情很容易，坚持懂得却需要理智和勇气。突然记得以前的同学让我赶紧回火星上去。。真是为我好啊~

都说天才和疯子只差一步，既然已经不是天才，那么离天才近一些也没什么不好。

-------

事情终归是轮回的，我好像回到了十年前~然后又再经历痛苦，然后又回归那时候得到的真理，然后又融入这个星球，然后又做得很精彩，然后又~

终其一生都在追寻一个很飘的东西，这让我想起了王守仁。

今天是30号，阴历也是30号，天上的哪颗星星动了？然后我动荡了。

其实，我真的想失忆。可是看着自己的脑袋我下不了手~现在很佩服纳什了。。。。。

我很闲，因为我总是为了别人而忽略自己的梦想，所以，

名称：我状态：闲置中

谁能给予摩羯

有点恶心 — Mon, 18 Aug 2008 17:54:26 +0800

不懂摩羯的，不要乱批判：
　　魔羯，也称山羊座，但相较于这个平庸的称谓，魔羯其实才更能贴切的表达这个星座生人的个性。无论是在东方还是西方，“魔”这个字的解释都是关乎一种神秘诡异、强大凶猛的邪恶力量；而翻开手边的新华字典，羯的解释却是这样的：公羊，特指被阉割过的。众所周知，不管怎样好斗的动物，被阉割过也是温驯的，而这种温驯表现得又是那么充满压抑。这便是魔羯，众人眼中的灰色人群。
　　
　　几乎在所有星座的文章里，魔羯似乎都是个老谋深算杀人不用刀，又木头一样的角色，这让任何其他星座看到后都难免心中产生一种反感情绪，尽管也有描述他们重情重义的只字片语，但仍旧是瑜不掩瑕。然而让人惊讶的是，不管魔羯看到那些评价他们如何阴险恶毒的帖子之后是多么无动于衷或者气愤地表情，其实在他们的心中倒是有几分窃喜，虽说他们了解自己完全不是那种人，但隐隐的下意识里他又强烈的渴望着有那么一天自己就是扮演着这种魔教大教主的狠角色，同时他们还深深的自信着，只要他们愿意，他们完全能随时成为这样邪恶又充满力量的角色。这自信让他有点洋洋自得。这时的摩羯会对这些基近人身攻击的评论带着几分轻蔑的意味在心中一笑，眼睛微微眯起，眼神微微发狠。可是关上电脑走出房门看见一卖水果的，他又突然想起今天要见的某某（这个是他喜欢或爱的同性或异性）说过喜欢吃水果来着，于是开始撅着屁股开始买水果：专挑最好的最新鲜的，价钱都不问。
　　
　　摩羯座是一个由极端混合而成的矛盾体，从来不曾有哪一个星座还曾像他们一样痛苦的在成为一个好人还是坏人的思虑中那么频繁而且痛苦的挣扎，他们一方面热切的希望自己能化作和煦的春光复舒万物，一方面又会疯狂的期盼自己能变作三尺寒冰冻结天地。可对于这个冬季出生的人群来说，对温暖的追求又是那么执著，所以到了最后，他总是又跳跃回去，积极地培育自己的春光一样的明媚品质了，成为一个好人带给他们的快感似乎更容易让他们就觉得陶醉。相对于他们自身的感受而言，他们并不愿陷在任何负面的阴暗情绪里。但同时又觉得做个坏人也没什么不好。一般来讲，孩童时期，他们是最乖巧惹人疼的乖宝宝，而年轻的魔羯总是容易显得孤僻不合群，年纪越大的魔羯在社会上越如鱼得水，老了之后，他们往往会成为难得的和蔼又宽容的代表（尽管这宽容和和蔼来的那么像扑面而来的皇权的体贴，让人面对时虽然觉得温暖却不敢靠近放肆。）虽然他们终身致力于中庸的调和，又向往任何明媚的气质，但这种根深蒂固的极端总是很容易失去控制，让他们在社会中莫名的感到落落寡欢。很多星座文章上形容天蝎的感觉很像极端二字，而对于魔羯的描述就和这两个字完全贴不上边。他们往往只重视星座的外在体现，却很少考虑根源。天蝎的极端，是稳固的状态，要么很爱要么很恨。而魔羯的极端，却是矛盾的状态，很爱很恨，总在两端不停跳跃，找不到中间平衡态，所以魔羯座对自己的情绪也会有困惑，于是他们就在这种激烈撞击的心理状态下表现出一如既往的漠然，不然他是没有办法思考的，“自己到底在想什么？自己到底站在哪一边？”就在这种冷漠的伪装中，魔羯正在反反复复整理自己的各种相互矛盾的情绪和想法，而这就成了世人眼中的深思熟虑吧。想必魔羯在有的时候会羡慕天蝎和天平：一个的爱恨有方向（非爱即恨），一个的爱恨是完全调和的（没有最最爱也没有最最恨）。
　　
　　你要让身边的魔羯去分析一个人的优缺点，如果他想说，那么你会发现这个人的无论优点还是缺点都统统无所遁形，你发现他可能分析到别人的一句话一个动作，也用上了自己的第六感。你会一边赞叹魔羯的惊人的分析别人能力，一边又暗暗出冷汗，觉得魔羯竟然这么分析别人？！真是有点老谋深算的感觉。如果他不想说，你就会发现他好像对任何人都好冷漠，对任何事都漠不关心，如果他心情亢奋，你也许又会看到另外两个形象：也许对其非常刻薄，也许对其非常赞许。但大多数情况下，你看到的只是个傻乎乎的魔羯，对你的问题愣愣的，有着各种胡言乱语。这是因为魔羯真是一个十分敏感的星座，他能够通过一件小事看透一个人，也十分了解什么是好的，什么是适合社会的，同时，魔羯又是一个极其爱自我怀疑的星座，他清楚自己的阴暗气质，所以往往不敢完全肯定自己的分析，当别人流露出美好气质的时候，他会立刻丢弃自己的关于别人缺点的分析，所以说起来，魔羯其实很容易上当受骗，也很容易受伤害。可是，另一方面，因为他们天生的敏感，倒也很容易察觉到自己被骗了，这时他们极端的性格再次发挥作用：当他们看到别人表现出好的一面时，对别人的信任是绝对的，不参杂的；而当他们发现，即使是一件为不足道的小事上的欺骗，他们就绝不会再信任了。
　　
　　很少有人和别人交往是从绝对的信任开始，可是魔羯是。这听起来真不像是天天把人性分析得那么透彻的魔羯所为，但这却是千真万确的。魔羯总是很轻易的就把一个以前从未接触过的陌生人定义为好人，别人说什么他都信会信以为真。而且他们一旦对别人建立良好的印象就很难消除。非常容易被感动，最有报恩的冲动：你要是毫无条件的帮他一回，他可能表面不动生色，却暗暗想把你一辈子都包揽照顾起来。（很多人都说魔羯的人不爱揽闲事，最怕别人找他们帮忙。这说的太对了，但决不是因为魔羯自私，而是他们总是把自己的责任看得太重，一旦帮了忙他就是拼了老命也要做得尽善尽美，不能容忍别人有一点不满意。所以尽管求他们办事很难，可一旦答应你就放一百二十个心吧！）
　　
　　这仿佛是个从桃源来的圣人。可他并不是。他只不过习惯了自我伤害罢了！事事走极端的性格是他的致命伤，他们至少要活到50岁往上才学会“和别人的交往要从怀疑到信任，不要太追求绝对。”这句话的一星半点，而且只是偶尔拿出来用用。虽然这句话他们只有十岁大的时候就拿出来时常告诫别人。他们的信任来的太干脆，他们的爱来的太纯粹，他们的付出来的太珍贵。正因为此，他们的目光就开始格外的敏锐审慎了。一件小事的背叛和欺骗都逃不过那双炯炯的法眼，他们看在眼里，感到的是铺天盖地的失望和打击和震惊，对所有的人性都批判了一遍。明明是件无关紧要的小事一件，可他们却在自己的心里狠狠的插上一刀。他们什么也不会说出来，却开始怀疑自己的付出是不是值得。但是，他又那么容易原谅，是真正的那种原谅，所有的伤害就像忘记了一样。接着，再一件事，再在自己心里狠狠插上一刀，再原谅。他们一旦决定付出情感，总是太汹涌澎湃了，通常是易放难收。然而，再接着，一件事又一件事，一刀又一刀…（至于他到底能承受多少次伤害，就要看你们的感情已经培养了多久，有多么深厚了）终于有一次，他的所有伤口一起崩裂，他的所有关于伤害的记忆都突然复活了——而在此之前他对你的付出是不打折扣的，虽然他总是对你陷在又爱又恨的矛盾中——他对你就一下子一点感情也没有了，即使不是决裂也只剩应付而已，彻底的冷漠速冻了他的心。他感到屈辱，被利用被愚弄被欺骗了，之后所有的情绪都将不复存在，你们曾经的感情烟消雾散，他想起你就觉得厌倦。很多和摩羯最终达到这种状态的人往往很奇怪：为什么那么多事情他都忍受了也没说，偏偏最后再一件小事上突然如此绝情呢？魔羯不会告诉你他是被最后一根稻草压死的骆驼，他很可能在最后很沉默，因为他不再觉得有说任何话的意义了，决定的事情没有更改的余地，根本没有向一个和他在没有关系的人解释的必要。不要伤害魔羯，这是我的忠告。他们经不起一点点地欺骗背叛，如果你能对他坦诚，付出真心，他能把灵魂交给你保管，刀山火海无所畏惧，绝对是最值得相交的朋友。说魔羯冷漠自私实际，等等等等的人请你回忆一下，不要放过一点细枝末节，你对魔羯冷漠过自私过实际过吗？你只要动过这个念头，就不要再抱怨了，你的一个动作一个眼神一句话一个表情早已让他们看的清清楚楚了。他们早已在内心把你这个没想真心对待他的人给否决掉了。你不配让他们付出百分之百的情感。而把感情分成份儿，他从来不会。所以魔羯可能会变得世故，却一辈子也无法圆滑。
　　
　　（魔羯会报复吗？很少吧，尽管他时常觉得自己受到了伤害，但却很少真正记在心上。除非你真的冲破了他的底线，否则很难激起他主动报复你的欲望，更多地时候，他们只是在消极对抗，对所有关于你的事情都变得无动于衷，袖手旁观罢了。但是——倘若他真地决定了要报复你，不得不替你惋惜，上天入地都将如影随形，他默默寻觅你的致命伤，不吝与任何手段已达目的。如果你还安好，只不过是他还不确定能将你一棒子打死，正在等待时机，积聚力量。这个悲观的星座总是会向后远观800年，深信冤冤相报何时了，所以他只要能忽略就统统忽略，而他一旦出手开始报复，就将势必斩草除根，除恶务尽了，绝不给你东山再起的再去报复他的机会。那么他的底线在哪里？一般埋得很深，一万米以下吧。因为他总是幻想自己是作一个心怀善意地好人。所以说体验过的人也不能不说是一种幸运。）
　　
　　…………他们是如此单纯又是如此工于心计，他们是如此无私又是如此自我，他们是如此向往光明又是如此沉溺于黑暗，他们是如此自信又是如此自卑，他们是如此慷慨大方又是如此悭吝小气，他们是如此敏感细致又是如此麻木迟钝，他们是如此热情如火又是如此冷若冰霜，他们是如此崇拜权力又是如此蔑视权威，他们是如此墨守陈规又是如此渴求自由，他们是如此追逐功成名就又是如此淡泊名利，他们是如此绝对信任又是如此多疑，他们是如此一诺千金又是如此翻然毁约，他们是如此浪漫温柔又是如此不解风情，他们是如此瞬息万变又是如此一层不变。他们的星座是魔羯。
　　
　　魔羯没有中间态。终其一生忍受内心各种相互矛盾的极端之间的冲突，无法清楚、绝对的表达自己是他们的宿命。到底是正还是邪？是善还是恶？他注定了感受误解、孤独、摇摆和困惑。他注定了越来越沉默。每一个泪水滑落的瞬间，是他们在轻轻和自己拥抱。他像追日的夸父，穷毕生之力寻找一个可以用尽他们所有的善而或所有的恶的人，让人性能够不再选择中挣扎，可是终将至死无果。
　　然而，我想，当走向人生的尽头，魔羯回首的那刻一定是在微笑着：所有的善恶都是我，我的良心一路而来依旧清澈鲜活。我是魔羯，你无须懂。

二十件事女人越早知道越幸福

有点恶心 — Sat, 16 Aug 2008 12:28:33 +0800

　1. 如果你的父母并非嫌贫爱富，而以人品为由强力阻止你和某人谈恋爱。千万不要为了要证明他们是错的，就拚尽全力爱起他来，你会发现你吃的苦头远比想像中多，而稍有收成时，岁月已经没有留下任何空间可以懊悔。你不过证明了，那人比他们看得到的还烂很多。

　　2. 如果一个男人在交往时已经大剌剌的开口跟你借钱，你在他眼中不过是一台中奖率很高的吃角子老虎，或一台短路的自动售货机。

　　3. 你喜欢酷的男人，意味着将来一定会出大问题，他会酷到懒得理你。

　　4. 他好歹该知道他想说什么，否则，若你一向喜欢沉默而强壮的男人，很容易遇上暴力狂。喜欢沉默而不强壮的男人，则容易患忧郁症。

　　5. 在都市中突然发现路边空出停车位，会要你马上下车去占住车位等他绕过来停的男人，不会把你当成宝贝来疼爱。天哪，下车占停车位的女人真的太常见了；小心，在很多事情上他只把你当挡箭牌。

　　6. 不要因为贪图免费搬运工，而找男人逛街。

　　7. 不要继续刺激愤怒中的男人，他们会像攻击性的爬虫类。即使你说的都是对的，急怒攻心的男人不会认为自己有错。

　　8. 如果他有自卑感，即使你故意掩饰自己的优秀，也无法提升他的自尊。

　　9. 交往前3个月，经你要求而没有改变的怀习惯，通常一生都不会改变，除非他发生空难而幸存从此改变人生，或皈依佛门变成没有欲望的男人。比如说，抽烟。

　　10. 藉婚姻争取自由的女人，总会发现婚姻让她失去更多自由。

　　11. 据调查，只有百分之一不到的女人发现，完全用男人的钱是一件幸福的事（我想，那百分之一的女人，是因为用不到，所以幻想那一定很美满）。你还是早点计划找钓竿，别急着找冰库；冰库里即使有吃不完的鱼，多半也不新鲜可口。

　　12. 永远不要想证明自己比他妈妈贤惠。

　　13. 女人会因谈不好恋爱而做不好工作；然而做不好工作的男人却谈不好恋爱。

　　14. 不要对他说，即使他有了别的女人，只要不抱着小孩回来，你都不在乎。他会以为自己是有尚方宝剑的钦差大臣，你也会发现他竟然以为你不是在开玩笑。

　　15. 如果你和他现在在一起不快乐，结了婚一定更不快乐；两人生活时不快乐，有了孩子以后有更多人不快乐。

　　16. 不必待到忍无可忍，该走时走，将来你会感谢自己的仁慈与睿智。

　　17. 除非你可以训练一只猫游泳，或一只狗看着刚打开的狗食不摇动尾巴，否则你千万别以为自己可以百分之百控制自己的孩子……

　　18. 如果他说配不上你，就马上相信他吧！

　　19. 不要嫁给憎恨自己母亲的男人！

　　20. 如果你对现在的身材不满意，就永远会对自己的身材不满意（顶尖名模也没有给自己的身材一百分），你可以做一点改良，但是身材永远不会变成你幻想中的那个样子；你不必忍饥挨饿不择手段，反正随着年岁增加，你会更不满意，会发现其实原来自己年轻时很不错，为什么在可以吃冰淇淋时没多吃几口？

　　有些事情早些知道的确比较好，该了解的了解，该注意的注意，该抓紧时抓紧，该放手的放手……　

我想跟你走

有点恶心 — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 00:21:21 +0800

我想跟你走，这是奶茶的一本书，看豆瓣看到的，都说喜欢奶茶的那份淡定，我不了解。也许是因为我根本就淡定不了。

爱天的蓝，是因为有云，爱地的黑，是因为有草。自由这个词，在我抬头的时候，猛然发现，多么的沉重和重要，越是重要的，就越会在这个东西周围，布满了蜘蛛网般的条件！遗憾可以跟在自由后面么？

自由的心灵是我要追寻的道路。这话感觉文得我自己都难以接受，但，这对于我是生存的唯一方式。

也不知道是不是王尔德说的“一个人没有理由非得把自己的生活向世界公开。世界是不明事理的。”

我是一个坚强、孜孜不倦的人，无论现在说着多么消极且失望的话，转过身去，眼泪还没干就开始努力去看明天的太阳了，并且又开始充满了野心。我这种人也许注定永远不能看破红尘。记得我看金老头的《神雕》时，过儿几次都不肯全心全意与姑姑厮守古墓，虽然他知道他爱姑姑，他最终会厮守古墓，但他在磨砺之前是永远都不会心甘情愿的留下。仿佛那结局已定，他却必须通过痛苦，让自己…淡定… 也许这个就是淡定。看到过儿，就是看到了自己。

我想跟你走，这句话仿佛很遥远，但我知道，越是遥远的东西，越是很快的真正来临，倒是看似很近的东西，却从不真正得到。而我，只需等待那淡定，就如我噩梦惊醒后，艰难的等待着黎明。

上天堂

有点恶心 — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 18:17:07 +0800

homeoldman曾对我说“你本应该上天堂的”
我不懂，就对homeoldman一笑。一切从笑开始…

其实圣经我爱看旧约，因为那是个开始，我喜欢知道开始，因为我沉迷于从开始去判断结束，并赌一些所有权归自己的东西。我已经开始判断上帝的未来了，也开始了判断你的。

这是一间很诡异的屋子，总觉得有什么在动，可是不知道风是从哪里来的，深色衣柜的左边有个宽大的写字台，上面放满了破纸，破笔之类的，屋子很暗，这种暗是完全没有阳光笼罩的暗，就是各个角落的亮度一致，写字台右侧的墙上挂了一副中国旧上海时期的不知道是哪个名媛的肖像画，在我眼里，那时期的名媛长相都差不多，

FEVER DREAM——非常好看的一篇文章

有点恶心 — Mon, 4 Aug 2008 23:55:50 +0800

FEVER DREAM

Ray Bradbury

They put him between fresh, clean, laundered sheets and there was always a newly
squeezed glass of thick orange juice on the table under the dim pink lamp. All
Charles had to do was call and Morn or Dad would stick their heads into his room
to see how sick he was. The acoustics of the room were fine; you could hear the
toilet gargling its porcelain throat of mornings, you could hear rain tap the
roof or sly rnice run in the secret walls or the canary singing in its cage
downstairs. If you were very alert, sickness wasn't too bad.
He was thirteen, Charles was. It was mid-September, with the land beginning to
burn with antumn. He lay in the bed for three days before the terror overcame
him.
His hand began to change. His right hand. He looked at it and it was hot and
sweating there on the counterpane alone. It fluttered, it moved a bit. Then it
lay there, changing color.

That afternoon the doctor came again and tapped his thin chest like a little
drurn. "How are you?" asked the doctor, smiling. "I know, don't tell me: 'My
cold is fine, Doctor, but I feel awful!' Ha!" He laughed at his own oft-repeated
joke.
Charles lay there and for him that terrible and ancient jest was becoming a
reality. The joke fixed itself in his mind. His mind touched and drew away from
it in a pale terror. The doctor did not know how cruel he was with his jokes!
"Doctor," whispered Charles, lying flat and colorless. "My hand, it doesn't
belong to me any more. This morning it changed into something else. I want you
to change it back, Doctor, Doctor!"
The doctor showed his teeth and patted his hand. "It looks fine to me, son. You
just had a little fever dream."
"But it changed, Doctor, oh, Doctor," cried Charles, pitifully holding up his
pale wild hand. "It did! "
The doctor winked. "I'll give you a pink pill for that." He popped a tablet onto
Charles' tongue. "Swallow!"
"Will it make my hand change back and become me, again?"
"Yes, yes."
The house was silent when the doctor drove off down the road in his car under
the quiet, blue September sky. A clock ticked far below in the kitchen world.
Charles lay looking at his hand.
It did not change back. It was still something else.
The wind blew outside. Leaves fell against the cool window.
At four o'clock his other hand changed. It seemed almost to become a fever. It
pulsed and shifted, cell by cell. It beat like a warm heart. The fingernails
turned blue and then red. It took about an hour for it to change and when it was
finished, it looked just like any ordinary hand. But it was not ordinary. It no
longer was him any more. He lay in a fascinated horror and then fell into an
exhausted sleep.
Mother brought the soup up at six. He wouldn't touch it "I haven't any hands,"
he said, eyes shut.
"Your hands are perfectly good," said Mother.
"No," he wailed. "My hands are gone. I feel like I have stumps. Oh, Mama, Mama,
hold me, hold me, I'm scared!"
She had to feed him herself.
"Mama," he said, "get the doctor, please, again. I'm so sick."
"The doctor'll be here tonight at eight," she said, and went out.

At seven, with night dark and close around the house, Charles was sitting up in
bed when he felt the thing happening to first one leg and then the other. "Mama!
Come quick!" he screamed.
But when Mama came the thing was no longer happening.
When she went downstairs, he simply lay without fighting as his legs beat and
beat, grew warm, red-hot, and the room filled with the warmth of his feverish
change. The glow crept up from his toes to his ankles and then to his knees.
"May I come in?" The doctor smiled in the doorway. "Doctor!" cried Charles.
"Hurry, take off my blankets!"
The doctor lifted the blankets tolerantly. "There you are. Whole and healthy.
Sweating, though. A little fever. I told you not to move around, bad boy." He
pinched the moist pink cheek. "Did the pills help? Did your hand change back?"
"No, no, now it's my other hand and my legs!"
"Well, well, I'll have to give you three more pills, one for each limb, eh, my
little peach?" laughed the doctor.
"Will they help me? Please, please. What've I got? "
"A mild case of scarlet fever, complicated by a slight cold."
"Is it a germ that lives and has more little germs in me?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure it's scarlet fever? You haven't taken any tests!"
"I guess I know a certain fever when I see one," said the doctor, checking the
boy's pulse with cool authority.
Charles lay there, not speaking until the doctor was crisply packing his black
kit. Then in the silent room, the boy's voice made a small, weak pattern, his
eyes alight with remembrance. "I read a book once. About petrified trees, wood
turning to stone. About how trees fell and rotted and minerals got in and built
up and they look just like trees, but they're not, they're stone." He stopped.
In the quiet warm room his breathing sounded.
"Well?" asked the doctor.
"I've been thinking," said Charles after a time. "Do germs ever get big? I mean,
in biology class they told us about one-celled animals, amoebas and things, and
how millions of years ago they got together until there was a bunch and they
made the first body. And more and more cells got together and got bigger and
then finally maybe there was a fish and finally here we are, and all we are is a
bunch of cells that decided to get together, to help each other out. Isn't that
right?" Charles wet his feverish lips.
"What's all this about?" The doctor bent over him.
"I've got to tell you this. Doctor, oh, I've got to!" he cried. "What would
happen, oh just pretend, please pretend, that just like in the old days, a lot
of microbes got together and wanted to make a bunch, and reproduced and made
more-"
His white hands were on his chest now, crawling toward his throat.
"And they decided to take over a person!" cried Charles.
"Take over a person?"
"Yes, become a person. Me, my hands, my feet! What if a disease somehow knew how
to kill a person and yet live after him?"
He screamed.
The hands were on his neck.
The doctor moved forward, shouting.

At nine o'clock the doctor was escorted out to his car by the mother and father,
who handed him his bag. They conversed in the cool night wind for a few minutes.
"Just be sure his hands are kept strapped to his legs," said the doctor. "I
don't want him hurting himself."
"Will he be all right, Doctor?" The mother held to his arm a moment.
He patted her shoulder. "Haven't I been your family physician for thirty years?
It's the fever. He imagines things."
"But those bruises on his throat, he almost choked himself."
"Just you keep him strapped; he'll be all right in the morning."
The car moved off down the dark September road.

At three in the morning, Charles was still awake in his small black room. The
bed was damp under his head and his back. He was very warm. Now he no longer had
any arms or legs, and his body was beginning to change. He did not move on the
bed, but looked at the vast blank ceiling space with insane concentration. For a
while he had screamed and thrashed, but now he was weak and hoarse from it, and
his mother had gotten up a number of times to soothe his brow with a wet towel.
Now be was silent, his hands strapped to his legs.
He felt the walls of his body change, the organs shift, the lungs catch fire
like burning bellows of pink alcohol. The room was lighted up as with the
flickerings of a hearth.
Now he had no body. It was all gone. It was under him, but it was filled with a
vast pulse of some burning, lethargic drug. It was as if a guillotine had neatly
lopped off his head, and his head lay shining on a midnight pillow while the
body, below, still alive, belonged to somebody else. The disease had eaten his
body and from the eating had reproduced itself in feverish duplicate.
There were the little hand hairs and the fingernails and the scars and the
toenails and the tiny mole on his right hip, all done again in perfect fashion.
I am dead, he thought. I've been killed, and yet I live. My body is dead, it is
all disease and nobody will know. I will walk around and it will not be me, it
will be something else. It will be something all bad, all evil, so big and so
evil it's hard to understand or think about. Something that will buy shoes and
drink water and get married some day maybe and do more evil in the worid than
has ever been done.
Now the warmth was stealing up his neck, into his cheeks, like a hot wine. His
lips burned, his eyelids, like leaves, caught fire. His nostrils breathed out
blue flame, faintly, faintly.
This will be all, he thought. It'll take my head and my brain and fix each eye
and every tooth and all the marks in my brain, and every hair and every wrinkle
in my ears, and there'll be nothing left of me.
He felt his brain fill with a boiling mercury. He felt his left eye clench in
upon itself and, like a snail, withdraw, shift. He was blind in his left eye. It
no longer belonged to him. It was enemy territory. His tongue was gone, cut out.
His left cheek was numbed, lost. His left ear stopped hearing. It belonged to
someone else now. This thing that was being born, this mineral thing replacing
the wooden log, this disease replacing healthy animal cell.
He tried to scream and he was able to scream loud and high and sharply in the
room, just as his brain flooded down, his right eye and right ear were cut out,
he was blind and deaf, all fire, all terror, all panic, all death.
His scream stopped before his mother ran through the door to his side.

It was a good, clear morning, with a brisk wind that helped carry the doctor up
the path before the house. In the window above, the boy stood, fully dressed. He
did not wave when the doctor waved and called, "What's this? Up? My God!"
The doctor almost ran upstairs. He came gasping into the bedroom.
"What are you doing out of bed?" he demanded of the boy. He tapped his thin
chest, took his pulse and temperature. "Absolutely amazing! Normal. Normal, by
God!"
"I shall never be sick again in my life," declared the boy, quietly, standing
there, looking out the wide window. "Never."
"I hope not. Why, you're looking fine, Charles."
"Doctor?"
"Yes, Charles?"
"Can I go to school now? " asked Charles.
"Tomorrow will be time enough. You sound positively eager."
"I am. I like school. All the kids. I want to play with them and wrestle with
them, and spit on them and play with the girls' pigtails and shake the teacher's
hand, and rub my hands on all the cloaks in the cloakroom, and I want to grow up
and travel and shake hands with people all over the world, and be married and
have lots of children, and go to libraries and handle books and - all of that I
want to!" said the boy, looking off into the September morning. "What's the name
you called me?"
"What?" The doctor puzzled. "I called you nothing but Charles."
"It's better than no name at all, I guess." The boy shrugged.
"I'm glad you want to go back to school," said the doctor.
"I really anticipate it," smiled the boy. "Thank you for your help, Doctor.
Shake hands."
"Glad to."
They shook hands gravely, and the clear wind blew through the open window. They
shook hands for almost a minute, the boy smiling up at the old man and thanking
him.
Then, laughing, the boy raced the doctor downstairs and out to his car. His
mother and father followed for the happy farewell.
"Fit as a fiddle!" said the doctor. "Incredible!"
"And strong," said the father. "He got out of his straps himself during the
night. Didn't you, Charles?"
"Did I?" said the boy.
"You did! How?"
"Oh," the boy said, "that was a long time ago."
"A long time ago!"
They all laughed, and while they were laughing, the quiet boy moved his bare
foot on the sidewalk and merely touched, brushed against a number of red ants
that was scurrying about on the sidewalk. Secretly, his eyes shining, while his
parents chatted with the old man, he saw the ants hesitate, quiver, and lie
still on the cement. He sensed they were cold now.
"Good-by!"
The doctor drove away, waving.
The boy walked ahead of his parents. As he walked he looked away toward the town
and began to hum "School Days" under his breath.
"It's good to have him well again," said the father.
"Listen to him. He's so looking forward to school!"
The boy turned quietly. He gave each of his parents a crushing hug. He kissed
them both several times.
Then without a word he bounded up the steps into the house.
In the parlor, before the others entered, he quickly opened the bird cage,
thrust his hand in, and petted the yellow canary, once.
Then he shut the cage door, stood back, and waited.

open&close

有点恶心 — Sun, 3 Aug 2008 18:52:08 +0800

标题显得很大，哈哈哈哈，

今天买了一个日记本，日记本上写的open&close，不错，不知道为啥，看着就想起来厕所……

贴上几个图图

怎么样，像本书吧？哈哈，购买地点：西直门嘉茂大厦一层屈臣氏旁边的一个韩国风格的用品店，单价：58.00￥，真是不便宜啊，看着上面写的字，我就能想到厕所，细看整个本本，我就想到了我买的英文原版的《the godfather》，为了比较，贴图

这俩黑的不一样，日记本本也黑，但是有光照的时候会受灯光颜色的影响，很明显，我的灯发黄，哈哈，说到等，我想起来我这个灯是在宜家买的，伯敏送的，也贴张图。。。

今天本本是主打，我再贴。。。

其实我的手是标准的美女手，哈哈，就是太瘦了太骨感，整的褶这个多啊。

再贴一个，

上面是我的日记本本，下面是the godfather，

对了，提一下，现在印本子可真厉害，封皮写的太有创意了，今天看到一个，memory单词，结果印成下面的样子，

________
|me      |
|mory    |
|        |
|        |
^^^^^^^^^^
刚才给二哥打电话了，二哥说，她边打电话边看一个大米虫子，，我倒！哈，我的形容像不像是在说二哥边打电话变整条大米虫子研究~

超准！49个瓶子你选哪个？

有点恶心 — Fri, 1 Aug 2008 14:30:44 +0800

我选了1和44，我觉得挺准的，

【44号瓶】守护天使

这个瓶子叫做“守护天使”，代表你跟天使的能量有所连结，你可能跟天使或外星人有过第三类接触，你的人就像这个瓶子的感觉：干干净净的，很可爱。你跟灵性，宗教或修行有缘分，如果你有接触静心，你很容易可以感受到很深的平静。

你的困难与挑战：你有着淡淡的忧愁，小小的自闭，做事情总缺少了那一分力气，无精打采。你有些梦幻，想法总是不切实际。你不想跟人联络，什么事都不想做，但独自一人却感到寂寞，无法享受单独，无法得到平静。

你的未来潜能：是一个蜕变过的人，解放自己也解放别人，肩负和平的任务，与上帝有连结，并以务实的方法蜕变神的旨意与神共同创造。

【1号瓶】身体解救瓶

你是一个多才多艺，有很丰富创造力的人。但是你习惯将你自己内在的彩虹隐藏起来。代表这个瓶子的塔罗牌是“魔术师”，代表你是一个善于沟通，有创造力的人。

你的困难与挑战：你习惯将你自己的光隐藏起来，虽然你有丰富的内涵，但你无法跟人分享。长久的隐藏，造成你有习惯性的忧郁。

你的未来潜能：知道他或她的理想，而且能够去实现它们。

----

其他瓶子的正解：到下面那个网易去看吧，破搜狐，对日志的字数有限制。。。。

回家

有点恶心 — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 21:52:29 +0800

回来

终于从家回来了，以前就是在北京，就开始想家，回家就想回北京了，每次从家回到北京都会兴奋不已，这次很出乎意料，回来了就是回来了，并没怎样，北京，要被我的心灵遗弃了~ 或许是彼此遗弃了。
填补心灵比填补物质更为重要，重要往往是需要做好的部分，但不代表只有重要就足够了。
测测你们更像「奋斗」里的谁？http://www.douban.com/group/topic/3747426/
我测出来是夏琳，尽管我讨厌夏琳，估计是讨厌演员，但是奋斗中的那句台词是我喜欢的“你叫我明白了，别人再大的事儿也是别人的，自己再小的事儿也是自己的。”

光光总会想问起我这个问题，那我就用夏琳的回答来回答我的光光

　　如果我一辈子穷困，你还会爱我吗？ ——陆涛
　　如果你一辈子努力，即使穷困我也还爱你。——夏琳

我亦如此

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选择

这个年代有太多的选择，只有坚定并且知道自己选择什么的人才能不烦恼。吴宗宪这个人发财是有道理的，他的思维方式就是发财的思维方式，满足自己的意识需求来满足大家的意识需求，其实这个世界人与人相处很简单-“己所不欲勿施于人”，基督的教义也是“视人如己”。与其回大庆，还不如让我周游世界。开阔是给生命一个继续的机会，专注是给生命一根绳子。不过光光要是选择了回大庆我也愿意回去，只要回大庆他愿意继续努力。如果你感到烦躁，那就说明你活的不努力，努力是一剂好药，为啥是好药？不信你可以看疗效。

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大庆

提到大庆，贴几张图好了。。。