So this evening I spent three and a half hours in a church rec room completing my orientation for volunteering at a local women’s shelter. It seems like a promising and rewarding experience; despite all of my peers are twenty to forty years my senior. And here I am with a tattoo, lip ring, and somewhat eccentric style of dress. My only trepidation is witnessing children who have been exposed to domestic violence. The shelter I volunteered before had no children. But no matter, actually my biggest qualm is that these experiences may aggravate my skepticism of the male sex. I know last time it did, working the door at the last shelter on Mission and 6^th during the evening and being taunted and cat-called from behind the glass by passing men made my blood boil. Perhaps if I am aware of this possibility I won’t regress into a vicious feminazi.

I have a date at the police station tomorrow for fingerprinting. I still am frustrated as fuck that I have yet to successfully unlock the blackberry Bailey gave me—thus no cell phone still. I have yet to figure out why this perturbs me so much. I rarely use the damned thing save for the occasion text.

Also, during  orientation I had to sculpt with clay. This is what I made:

.. ..

And I feel like doll parts loosely strung together by a taunt thread. Then I realize, I am holding the strings.