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Chapter 5

�

The days passed as Franziska took care of Phoenix and helped him recuperate from his injuries. �She, at first, had thought that these would be an incredibly long and grueling two weeks with him, since she would have to stop herself from whipping him even when she felt that he absolutely deserved it, since he was already injured.

�

Although, as time went on, she was surprised to find out that the times she thought he deserved a whipping were quite few, and, as hard a time as she admitting it, she found herself enjoying his company much of the time, really never having someone she considered a friend in her past, the only person coming close being her little brother, Miles Edgeworth.

�

But something about Phoenix was different to her, she realized. �This ldquo;friendshiprdquo; with him felt nothing like her relationship with Miles, but she couldnrsquo;t place her finger on why exactly.� He certainly did say a lot more foolish things than Miles ever did, but it didnrsquo;t bother her as much as the things the foolish subordinates she had to deal with at work.

�

Usually she had little patience for foolishness, but sometimes he said things that she found strangely endearing. �Not that she ever let him know that, but admitting this to herself was a huge feat in itself, especially since shersquo;d kept herself from drawing close to most people in her life.

�

Shersquo;d been taught that depending on people was weak, and sharing your thoughts and feelings with them was weaker, but Phoenix did this so freely, she wondered how it was so easy for him. �Did he not consider this sort of behavior foolish?� To allow oneself to be vulnerable in front of anotherhellip;that was definitely something her father had strictly taught them never to do.

�

To have vulnerabilities at all was a sign of imperfection in her fatherrsquo;s eyes and to reveal them to another person was simply unthinkable.� Yet, now, Phoenix made her want to fall into the temptation of revealing her true feelings about things the more time she spent around him. �

�

The foolrsquo;s foolish ways have addled my brain. Franziska grumbled to herself as she stepped unlocked the door to their hotel room, returning after ironing out the final details that were necessary to take care of in dropping all charges the prosecutorrsquo;s office had against the defendant in their case.

She had decided to move the both of them into a larger room in the hotel to make things easier on the both of them, so that she wouldnrsquo;t have to foolishly run between her room and his if he needed help.�

�

And, even if shersquo;d never tell Phoenix, she did like spending time with him, although his foolishness had to be corrected often.� With this thought in mind, she quickly glanced around the room for him as she entered, but came up with a negative result.

�

After confirming that Phoenix was nowhere to be found inside the suite, Franziska made her way to the balcony. Unsurprisingly, there she found Phoenix, staring out at nothing, and as she opened her mouth to inform him of what a foolish thing he was doing she heard raised voices coming from the room over.

"So, Phoenix Wright, you are out here foolishly listening to the foolish arguments of other fools?" She said to announce her presence, whip curled up in her hand though she had no intention of using it, yet.

�

Phoenix had decided to get some fresh air outside on the balcony of their suite, not getting to leave the hotel room much since it was so difficult to move around with the wheelchair.� But now he was just lost in thoughts about how nice Franziska was being to him ever since he returned from the hospital.� She really didnrsquo;t have to go through all this trouble for him, and it really touched him that she did.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard Franziska talking to him.� He shook his head slightly and gave her a small smile and said, ldquo;No, I just wanted to get some air.rdquo;

�

Before Franziska could answer, the more dominant voice seemed to increase in volume and she paused. One particular phrase stood out among the others and brought back memories of her own childhood, of her father. Why canapos;t you do anything right?

"It is not as uncommon a phrase to say to children as I thought. Perhaps my father had some justification when saying it to me, if that is so." She mused, thinking back to her childhood and the apos;perfect imageapos; that she had been pressed into.

�

Phoenix looked at her in surprise and he quickly shook his head, speaking gently, "No way...itapos;s never okay to say that to your kid.� Kids make mistakes all the time...they donapos;t deserve to be spoken to that way even if they do something the parent doesnapos;t like."

�

Turning to look at him, Franziska was surprised at the softness she heard in his voice and saw in his features. The look in his eye made it seem as if he genuinely did believe it, and it made her pause for a moment before she replied. "Are you certain of that, Phoenix Wright? It does not appear that many others share your foolish ideals. "

�

Phoenix heard the slight bit of hesitance in Franziskaapos;s tone when she spoke so he replied, "Iapos;m sure of it.� Kids sometimes have to be disciplined, but they shouldnapos;t be made to hate themselves in the process."

�

That comment from Phoenix struck just a little too close to home, so she quickly broke eye contact with him and said, ldquo;Perhaps that is true.rdquo;

�

Phoenix noticed the quiet pain in her tone and so he rolled his way a bit closer to her, and he did the unthinkable in his want to just comfort her for the emotional abuse he knew she must have suffered at the hands of von Karma.� He reached forward and lightly touched her hand, the one that was free of the whip, in a comforting gesture.

Franziska looked at him in shock, first, because she was not used to people touching her, and second, because she was not used to receiving comfort from another person that wanted nothing from her except for her to feel better.� Then the comforting look in his eyes made her feel a strange sort of warm feeling in her chest, and her uncertainty now brought some color to her cheeks.

�

She let him touch her for a moment that was a bit more prolonged than she would have allowed most others, but then she quickly pulled away from him to walk forward to lean against the edge of the balcony.� Phoenix stayed silent, but he watched her carefully, almost feeling her pain himself, just wishing there was something he could do to help.

�

ldquo;Papa only pushed us to be what he thought was best.� Irsquo;ve realized now that he just didnapos;t see how obtaining that perfection would truly affect us.rdquo; Franziska said in a bitter, yet vulnerable tone, looking out in front of her, not wanting to meet eyes with Phoenix at all.

�

Phoenix was silent another moment, then rolling a bit closer to her and saying with a small, but encouraging smile, ldquo;No matter what he said or did, yoursquo;ve still turned out to be a great person.rdquo;

�

This direct compliment made her cheeks color even more, for a moment she was struck speechless.� Then a hesitant smile just touched her lips and she turned to face him, saying, ldquo;You truly are a fool, Phoenix Wright.rdquo;

�

Phoenix found himself blushing a little himself, but the smile didnrsquo;t leave his face.� Finally, Franziska spoke again.

�

ldquo;I am going back inside.� Would you like to come with me?rdquo;

�

ldquo;Sure.rdquo; Phoenix said in a quiet tone, turning the wheelchair around so that hersquo;d be facing their hotel room again.

�

She then stepped behind him to push him inside, wondering just how and when this foolish man had begun to work his way into her heart.

�

* * *

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So i was at oasis on friday night and i was sitting on the couch with my friend megan who was sitting on the armrest. We were waiting for her boyfriend matt and my ...new?? boyfriend (which is so weird to say) to come back. All of sudden these two guys come up to us and start introducing themselves to us. We say our names- one comes to sit next to me on the couch and the other starts to chat it up with megan.

this is the conversation that goes on with this random guy.

him: "so you go to school here?"
me: "yeah...do you?"
him: "nah, iapos;m a landscaper"
me: "oh really? how old are you?"
him: "22....you?"
me: "21"
him: "cool...so ya know..iapos;m a cowboy at heart and i love your cowboy boots" (if only they were cowboy boots).
me: "oh thanks."
him: "you listen to country music?"
me: "nope..."
him: "oh..so can you tell where i am from?"
me: "no..."
him: "Iapos;m from Poland..."
me: "oh wow really?"
him: "yeah, my name is PIGUXGJUIFJSGJHSIU*" *some really long name that made no sense
me: "oh wow cool"
him: "so you know-- that guy over there" (the one talking to megan) "he graduated on football scholarship"
me: "oh wow really?"
him: "yeah...i love sports--i play football, soccer, baseball, everything."
me: "oh wow coolapos;
him: "so whats your major?"
me: "art"
him: apos;i love art i do art too...i paint...and i do poetry...iapos;m a poet...i love to write poems"
me: "poems wow"
him: "yeah maybe we should get together and do art..."
me: "oh yeah..totally"
him: "so who you here with?"
me: "oh iapos;m here with my boyfriend and my friends"
him: "oh cool so can i have your number?"
me: "well i have a boyfriend.."
him: "so?
me: "heapos;s right there..." (at this point scott goes up to save megan from her guy yet iapos;m still suffering)
him: "cool...so can I have it? he doesnapos;t have to know?"
me: "um"
him: "come on...why does he need to know- just give me your number"
me: "um no sorry "
him: "how about i come back to you later...when youapos;re alone...ya know...iapos;ll be back"
me: "right then okay"

he gets up, grabs his friend - introduces himself to scott and says something - i have no idea what he said- then leaves.

i started cracking up after that.

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Life sucks and then you die.
youapos;re born, youapos;re raised, you go to school. You work on an education until youapos;re 20ish. To learn what? a profession. You work at this to make money, and throw the money around to buy possessions and still things that you think will make you happy.

everyone idolizes that house. That biiiig house. And maybe you can have kids and put them in that lovely house you bought. Then you work your whole life even harder to support these kids who often wonapos;t respect you at all until they are older. And on top of that, you make them follow the same pattern that youapos;re in. School and work, make money, buy things.

and who knows if peopleapos;s offspring will eventually even be able to survive with all this global warming toxic planet shit that we throw around. And we donapos;t even do anything about trying to fix it, people just sit there and talk about fixing it and make money taking about it.

and then, when youapos;re finally done working and making money, you retire, and deteriorate in peace, when you really should have been enjoying your life all along, but no, itapos;s now that you rest and look back on all the things that you did. Now that youapos;re incapable of simple things like walking. Then a lot of us will just get thrown in a home where people get paid to take care of us until we die. And maybe itapos;d be like tuesdays with morrie, these young people learning things from the old wise dying people. But whatapos;re they going to do with it anyways? theyapos;ll use i to live their life that will eventually end just like ours.

itapos;s a huge cycle and one day, as much as weapos;d hate to believe it, itapos;s going to end because weapos;re just animals on a rock in the middle of an expanding universe. And some people try to use their education for a profession of trying to figure out why weapos;re here, which is something that weapos;ll probably never even figure out. And why bother, because everything you say, do, and think probably wonapos;t even matter someday because this is all going to be gone. Weapos;re all just going to be a part of the rock in the middle of nowhere that we somehow sprang up from and lived our lives.

some people make big impacts on the world. Their name goes down in history. The things that they said and did and thought are still remembered and studied today. And it plants a seed in every person, telling them that maybe they could have a chance to make a difference in the world. Iapos;d love to do that, and iapos;d love to do it by helping people, but i just donapos;t see the point in that, or in anything, if lifeapos;s always going to be a harsh struggle and itapos;s all just going to be gone anyways.

iapos;d say itapos;d be easier to just get it over wiht now, to just die and be something that doesnapos;t matter because thatapos;s probably what iapos;m going to eventually be someday anyways. But i still feel like thereapos;s something out there that i want to live for. Thereapos;s something that has to not be pointless and careless that i can work with.

the thing that sucks is, i canapos;t put my finger on it and i feel like itapos;s out of reach. Maybe life is just a journey to find that one thing you want in it. I hope someday i do, and i hope that someday everyone does, because if life is lived without at least one thing to love, then it shouldnapos;t have been lived at all.

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I find myself having no desire to be date. I canapos;t really say for the future.
But staying single forever does not seem an odd choice for me.
I think itapos;s totally fine and logical. With all the cares you put into a family, you have so little time for anything else. I want to extend the definition of family to those not of blood relations, but to those those brethren in Christ. And a life without a male counterpart does not appear to be so disastrous for me as well. All the more, it seems less of a hassle for me, to remain faithfully true to my husband and to perform the role of a feeble wife in need of some brawniness from man.

I am happy God made the way I am.

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I was telling my friend the other day that even though I am an adult, I have to be careful about when I watch True Blood at home because I really donapos;t need my family walking in on a vampire orgy going on or something similarly smutty. AWKWARD.

So today my mom came in the room asking me if the girl in The Piano with Holly Hunter is Anna Paquin, and if so, is she the girl who plays Sookie in True Blood? Yep, thatapos;s her. It turns out my momapos;s a fan of the show, loves "how apos;southernapos; it is and even its gothic elements [which Iapos;m assuming means the vampires?)," and her favorite character is Sookieapos;s best friend Tara.

I lolapos;ed. But itapos;s still AWKWARD. Iapos;m not about to watch it with her or anything...

Iapos;m about four episodes behind on the show now and though the show is more raunchy than Iapos;m usually comfortable with, itapos;s enjoyable. Besides, Anna Paquin is too adorable (I miss her Rogue hair though.). :)
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When you look through your photos you have some associations or memories connected to them. You look just at the photo, but you see everything outside it, you remember what others were talking about, what mood did you have, what did you eat in the morning...

I like to look through somebodyapos;s else photos very much. Especially traveling photos. For a moment a photo becomes your eyes into another world, each picture is a bright splash, an impression, a flash, a moment... You see only that what you see with your eyes and itapos;s hard to imagine that you will feel the same with photoapos;s author.

thatapos;s why photos should be caught smartly, not like a random clicking all around. It requires searching of some kind of center, some kind of sense. Only then your photos will be interesting to look at. Only then you will start seeing something apos;behindapos; the picture...
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There are times in everyoneapos;s life when theyapos;d be better off just leaving well enough alone. Unfortunately for me, Iapos;d gotten worse about recognizing that fact after Iapos;d died -- I hadnapos;t felt at peace, Iapos;d felt curious. An insatiable need to know circumstances, and not just my own. A compulsion to help make things better for other people.

After the breakfast debacle, I really should have known better.

It was common knowledge on the island that the rec room bookcase enjoyed screwing with people. If it had something it wanted you to read or watch, chances were that youapos;d not be afforded the opportunity to read or watch anything else until you gave in. It had only happened to me once before -- After Masonapos;s disappearance -- and Iapos;d become complacent about the possibility of what it might choose to give me.

I should make one thing clear: For someone who was supposed to be clever and experienced, I could be really stupid sometimes.

It was the morning after the masked ball at New Pemberley, and half the island was still tucked in bed after a long night of dancing and socializing. Iapos;d made a brief appearance and had gone home early, and had spent the better part of the morning baking and enjoying the temporarily subdued atmosphere of the Compound. After my last batch of pumpkin spice muffins was finished, Iapos;d headed into the rec room to grab something to read, thought I might carry it back to the boat and spend a lazy day lounging around in the sun.

Color me surprised, then, to find myself faced with shelf after shelf of film cans, and a growing sense of dread. Fleetingly, Iapos;d thought that maybe this was finally the day that the island decided to show me I was fictional, but as soon as Iapos;d pulled a can out and read the label, I knew that was unlikely. "Band of Brothers" sounded as inappropriate a name for my life as I could imagine. Iapos;d had one brother, not an entire band of them.

After a few momentapos;s consideration, I steeled myself and decided to give in. If the shelf wanted me to see this, there wasnapos;t much else I could do about it, anyway. Better to just square my shoulders and get on with it. How bad could it be?

Again, I remind you that I was really stupid sometimes.

"Episode Seven," the label read. "The Breaking Point." That sounded plenty ominous, but it didnapos;t make much sense to start with episode seven, so I shelved the can and pulled out another. And another. And another after that. The whole damned case was filled with episode seven, and my creeping sense of dread was back.

"Okay," I murmured to the shelf, film can in hand. "I get the message. Episode seven it is." A deep breath, and I was headed downstairs to fetch the projector.

Even on a lazy Sunday, the rec room would be busy, so I set the projector and screen up in the basement storeroom, across the room from the radio equipment. It seemed like a good place for it -- I could keep the room dark, Iapos;d have relative privacy, and I spent enough time down there listening to records that if somebody needed to find me, it was a probable place to look. I tugged the chair over from the DJ table, swallowed hard once to brace myself, and switched the projector on.

HBO, of all things, and how incredibly strange it was to see that logo projected on a movie screen instead of a television. There was no title sequence, no explanation of what the hell I was about to watch, just the immediate cutting to an old man, talking about death, like a documentary, and for a minute I was really confused. But then I saw it, on the wall behind him -- The paratrooper logo, 506, E -- and I swear to God my stomach dropped right out.

There were no names, so I didnapos;t know who that was, or any of the old men that followed -- Did I know these guys? Surely none of them were George, the accent wasnapos;t right. Why wasnapos;t the damned thing telling me who they were? What kind of half-assed documentary were you running here, HBO?

Music swelled and there were titles, finally, and you just canapos;t imagine the feeling of watching something like that and seeing your boyfriend and his friends up there, clear as anything, and I was feeling a whole lot of things, but confusion was the most prevalent. Well, that and anxiety. What could I do, though? So I just sat there, literally poised on the edge of my seat, my entire body tense, a hand pressed over my chest with my heart beating hard beneath my fingers.

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We played OKTOBERFEST II this evening, our first Hubba Hubba show since... Well, Oktoberfest I It was a great show, the energy was really positive and I brought in a guy from last weekapos;s benefit to register people to vote during the show (thank you Roger Weinman). But the thing that really set this evening apart was tonight marked the triumphant return to the LPN stage of LESLIE PRESLEY

She and I had been planning it ever since my fatherapos;s service but we wanted to keep it quiet for maximum impact. It really worked When I started to sing Baby Wonapos;t You Please Come Home and she came down the stairs behind me I could see the faces in the crowd light up. She sounds as great as ever and it was swell to share the stage with her again. The Nails were pleased as well.

Iapos;ll post photos (and video) as they become available.
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Itapos;s been three months since I moved to Boston.
I couldnapos;t be more anxious not to be living with Sarahapos;s relatives anymore. And in a nice apartment, not that trashy place we lived in in Richmond.

Iapos;ve gotten stuck into a routine that Iapos;m not fond of. Iapos;m not getting very much out of it.
I find myself repeating a lot of mistakes. I just donapos;t seem to be able to focus on anything more constructive.
Iapos;m not contributing to society properly at the moment. I feel pretty much lost in myself. Itapos;s hard to break out when Iapos;m like this - the rest of the world doesnapos;t want to deal with me. My parents didnapos;t want to deal with me.

Iapos;m so tired of trying to learn everything on my own and failing everytime. It feels like I havenapos;t made anymore progress than I had when I was 10.
I have no idea how to hold a conversation with anyone now. Iapos;ve been pissing people off more often than not. Or getting the wrong flow of conversation, I dunno.
Iapos;ve been casting a lot of doubt upon my future. Basically I had more ego than I was used to this week, and it all came crashing down rather harshly.
Itapos;s hard to find that steady level of self-confidence thatapos;s always where you need it to be.
Maybe I donapos;t understand the whole concept of actual self-confidence.
I never really did grow up with a proper image of myself. I was always trying to fit in as an underdog...which doesnapos;t work most of the time.
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