I want to write. This morning I transcribed what I had written the other day on the ferry. It took a long time and now, after having spent so much time thinking about it, I can't stop narrating my experience. The words echo constantly in my head. I'm alone again and in that space I am most aware of myself and how deeply all things affect me. I can't turn off the voice, and I guess I don't want to. I want it always to flow, spilling everything - for there is so much that is inside of me.

On this ferry the wind funnels through the open center with a cool consistent force. I almost missed this boat: I slid on past the heels of the very last group of foot passengers. They pulled the rope tight across the stern just after me. I wheeled my bike between the cars down the walkway demarcated by two yellow lines. Sometimes the fit was tight and I was careful not to bump someone's vehicle. At the bow, the wind at its strongest, I tied my bike to the steel frame of the vessel. I turned to walk up the stairs so I could find a table on which to write in this journal. But the wind cooled me and for a moment - just in time - I recognized the sensation. I turned back, unclipping and pulling off the helmet, letting it drop to my left side dangling by the chin strap. I approached the taut rope across the gaping opening there at the very end of the ship and closed my eyes. I felt the wind pushing me so I leaned into it. It pressed my shirt against the roundness of my breasts, against the flat of my belly. Sun warm on my lids. My arms and legs cooling and chilling a little. I felt clean. Eyes opened again, viewing the panorama ahead of me. On the surface of the water, pushing it this time. The Olympics. A quick scan to myself: Ellinor, Washington, The Brothers, Constance. It's hazy today, making their shapes harder to discern against the bright sky, but I know them so well that I could see them anyway. Above me, passengers stood outside on the deck. I could have, I imagine, positioned myself to look up their shorts, but I'm not interested. Anyway, I was planted where I was. I heard them chattering though, even over the roar of the wind. It was louder when I closed my eyes, which I had done again. It was the chatter and the increasing chill that prompted me to turn around and move toward those stairs.

Inside, the air is stuffy and I make no hesitation to head straight for the covered outside deck with seating. The boat is full with lively children and the voices of people who rarely ride ferries. Young men's faces among them all who are maybe too young for me. I wonder if I will be one of those people who are always attracted to others too young for them. I hate old, dread the idea of becoming it; I'm in love with youth. It only takes a moment of thought to define the difference between what seeing a cute boy is like and that of meeting the gaze of a handsome man. There is no comparison, and there is no need to even ponder the question ever again. Silly thought.

Camp counselor has asked me to think hard about what I truly desire. (A question too open to interpretation I think.) I've made very little progress. It's the kind of thing one thinks about in solitude and I have not been alone for long periods of time when I'm not doing anything else that's occupying my mind. Am I avoiding it? I don't think so. I am distracted, and the days are passing so quickly that I can't keep track of them.

What do I desire?

I'm afraid to say. I thought about it for a moment or two in the shower this morning. Acknowledging desire is in some way like admitting the darker part of myself. I listen to my own words, noticing how often I say, "I want…." I have thought that I must feel awfully empty and undernourished to want so much and so many. Yet, I can't admit to the needs that would truly fulfill me. (Or would they?) I have a vague notion of them; maybe a word or two, just a thought perhaps that I abandon immediately. These things hint to me of what lies buried in my heart under heavy piles of superficiality. All sins, these fundamental wants.