25/02/06
I am sitting on the damp grass of the old Northern Cemetry of Dunedin. There are no seats and I don’t suppose one should sit upon the concrete raised edges of a grave. It feels as though one is not encouraged to linger long. Yet I am moved by the writing upon one of the towering monuments:

This is a place of rest, Then take a seat, Wandering Stranger, and contemplate the scene, Over there.
Oh! The spacious grad plantation, Over there.
Shining like a constellation, Over there.
Holy with a consecration,
From all crime, and grief, and care;
To all uses good and fair, Over there.

Stop, traveler stop, ere you go by.
As you are now, so once was I;
As I am now, so you must be;
Prepare yourself to follow me.

It is such a quiet place, and yet it is so loud. Such an empty place, and yet is so full. There is a great deal of sadness and it hurts to see how delapadated this place has become, this place of memories, of grief, of history.

It is a strange place this preserver of the dead. As you wander past the plots you see the huge contrats. Dates all the way from the early 1800s to the mid 1900s. some are just plain, simple gravestones whereas others are huge monuments of gradeour. Some plots are overgrown in planting, others are starck concrete. There are gravestones that are clean and well kept whereas others look as though they have been struck by lightening and some are now long unreadable.

I cannot help but wonder what lives there people led. Were they happy? Did they achieve their dreams? What is their history? Who are their families? Where are they now? Does anyone come now to visit their grave? All questions that cannot be answered and I still ask…

There is one grave in front of me…‘died aged 5 years’. I am moved to tears.

31/01/06
The music that comes from deep within my soul feels like it is trying to get out. I feel cut, bruised, wounded…like there is some inner battle I’m not aware of – “stop the music,” they cry…but the pull is too strong and the dancing notes in my head don’t give up.

Emotions are spilling out of me, seeping through every crack in my skin. Sadness, fear, anger, confusion, rage…misery. Slowly I am returning to my old self, day by day. The transformation is no longer simply physical. Yes, I am no longer just skin and bone but I am no longer an indifferent, empty shell. The misery that has haunted much of my past life is returning in full force and the tears inside me hover just behind my eyes and rush forward out of control at the slightest beat of my heart. If I cried any more I would be washed away.

28/01/06
Sometimes in my heart it is so dark that I am afraid and cannot think. The darkness creeps up the spine of my back and up my neck like a thunderous cloud. It is always there though at times I can bear it. This is not one of those times and I can’t bear it. My heart weeps and all I wish is to vanish into nothingness and be a long forgotten memory. Today is not a moment of happiness.

20/10/05
The world outside my window is a mist storm…rain falling through the thick grey cloud that swamps the grass. Eerie shadows of the tips of trees rise out above the shrubs and roof tops of our quaint old surroundings. The gentle but firm pattering of water on the old iron roofs.

What do I say to a world that isn’t mine?

I am drowning in the patterns swirling towards me on the computer screen. It is hypnotising for a lost spirit. The warmth of its engine helps to remind me that I’m still alive, still awake. Or does it? Perhaps it helps to lull me to sleep with it’s

Snatches of thought here and there, “…there’s beauty in the breakdown…,” whatever that means.

There is nothing wrong with me…it’s all in my head. It’s all make believe. I am a fake, a fraud, I’m not real, I’m not even really here.

08/10/05
It is dark outside apart from a reflection far across the groups I can see from my window. They are wide open letting in the freezing cold air. I would rather be cold than to feel that crawly claustrophobic feeling that comes over me when everything is all shut up. I have turned up the music loud to drown out the misery that is calling me deep inside. It isn’t really working but I can always pretend.

I am back at square one like the long months that I took the medication never happened, never even existed. Did I really finish my degree at university? Did I really walk across that stage and get that degree? Did I really work out in the real world tucked up in dark editing suites at all hours of the night? Did I really get to fly in helicopters all over Auckland? Did I really let someone’s idle comments about my depression tip me over the edge? Did I really lose my drivers license? Did I really spend an evening in hospital with wires attached all over me? Did I really try to slash my arm and scream my way though new years eve? Did I really spend nearly a year living only on nut butter and kiwifruit? Did I really think that no one would care and that I would be able to starve myself to death? Did I really drive my family to such deep despair? Did I really become so obviously unwell that I ended up in a psychiatric hospital? Why? Oh god, how? Every morning I have woken up here in the last couple of weeks have been like waking up in some nightmare. I thought that I had managed to hide my depression, my misery from all but my family and closest friends. I was very clearly wrong. I only have to wake up and hear my shuddering breath to realise I was only kidding myself.

It plays across my mind. What would have happened if I had never developed anorexia? Would I have just carried on? Could I have just carried on? Would I ever have managed to get some help? Would anyone have even realised just how bad I had become? The only thing I know for certain is that I would not have just “gotten over it.” It makes me wonder. It makes me scared. I spent over ten years struggling with a hidden illness I didn’t even understand I had all by myself. But it wasn’t until it manifested itself into something the eye could see though my physical appearance that anything was done, that help was sought, was found. It wasn’t until I had practically starved myself to death and retreated from the outside world that the help I was getting was finally realised to not be enough. Could I have put it any plainer? Could I have screamed out any louder?

It is dark outside and I am feeling sickly and weak. My head is pulling itself towards the pillow but I am so afraid of the darkness that descends once sleep has come.

18/09/05
Whatever did I do wrong to end up here so lonely and cold and afraid?

Anorexia was just a game that she tired of. It’s no fun when you can’t sink to the bottom, when they publicly humiliate you. So now all this eating is another game. Look, she’s getting well. She is all fine. Oh look at all that progress that she has made. False progress and you know it, hiding my sadness and pain behind a facade of rosy cheeks and empty plates. There is so much filling up the space here that no one will notice as we slip away into the darkness. Bang bang goes my gun. Slowly I fall but I make no sound as I hit the floor as I have melted away out of sight. They won’t see me. They won’t hear me.

21/02/05
We walk through the garden and see berries and orchids amongst ruins of ancient stone. What do you see?

Anya sits on an old wooden chair under her favourite tree, a maple with long, beautiful drooping branches. She smiles when she sees us and beckons us over. Anya always has a story to tell or a beautiful flower to show us. She tends the gardens in our heart but there is not much that can be done when the drought comes.

We are at peace in the castle, a place for all of us, our own rooms and separate identities. No hiding in some god forsaken shell.

09/02/05
Lots of elderly couples on the beach together. Licking ice creams, bathing in the crystal blue of the sea, soaking in the morning sun on the park bench hand in hand. So much love, so much warmth, so much gentle tenderness. Perhaps there is life still in old age. Perhaps our culture of forever young and beautiful is a misguided one. There is true beauty in happiness, contentment, love.

13/01/05
Grace visited me on a walk on Tuesday. As we wandered past the park I felt something at the back of my neck, the odd sensation of a long blond ponytail swinging in time with our step and a bold, bright smile. She says she’s been there all the time but I’d just never heard her before. She has a beautiful smile, pearly white skin and flowing colours of fabric that hold glimpses of the 1970s and an ancient past all in one. A siren song but an ode to life rather than death. She fascinates me because, well simply because she believes.

25/12/04
What happened to the year? How did I fall so far? Where has my heart and soul gone? My life? I have died, or perhaps, I died long ago…she died, we died. What is left? What is left to live for? You can’t answer for me because you do not live beneath our skin.

03/12/04
Sometimes Claire wakes up and everything is all perfectly normal, like how it’s supposed to be. She’s not anorexic, not skinny and there is almost a taste of appetite there, although satisfied. But she couldn’t get up and have breakfast, things have gone too far for that now. We past that point of deception a long time ago. Claire has a kiwifruit and a juice and somehow she’s come to think of that as a normal breakfast. We know it’s not true. It’s far too much for us but Claire is clever so we have to trick her into believing everything is normal.

Rose is crying. She always cries. I don’t know why. Well, I sort of do but things are all sort of cloudy in here and they won’t help me. I am convinced they know something, that they are hiding something from me but I don’t know how to get it out of them. Something is wrong with Rose. She is scared. She doesn’t talk to me much, just cries that she wants to go home but no one can tell me where that is. I can feel her fear, feel her unhappiness swamping through my body. She is so close to my skin. I cannot leave her alone, I am too afraid. What if they hurt her? What if she gets scared and can’t find me? She wants to go home, voicing the fears of us all.

Mysta knows she has us under her control. She owns us and we are hers. Do you understand? We can’t get out. It’s all a game. She says it’s all a game. It’s a game until someone dies. Is she the one who stops me from the final point of harm? I thought maybe if I was free of life I would be free of her. But Mysta never loses. She always wins. We always lose. We’re so scared. I can’t talk to you Mysta because you won’t make sense, because you never really listen, not unless it is what you want to hear. Is it you that makes us hate this soul so bad? Is it you that lets us taste death at the back of my throat?

“Why are you afraid of me? I won’t hurt you. There’s nothing wrong with us, with you. I love you, I really do. I’m only doing this to help you.

Karen is an enigma. She is the witch. The spirit queen from a time long ago, a time somewhere in the future, a time from which time itself forgot. We feel her in our hair and see her in the mirror when we put on her clothes. She is my Arwen, my princess, my queen. Rose likes her. She is what Rose wants to be when she grows up. Does Rose get to grow up? Karen is tall with dark hair, pale skin and haunting eyes. They glow green when she soars. She is our dream, my very own fantasy story inside my head falling in love with the handsome man with the long blonde hair who took his human form in the boy on the bus.

Vaala carries her head high to hide the pain that tears at her heart every day. She feel in love the deepest with the boy who read our soul and wasn’t afraid. But he broke our heart and tore pieces in her soul, pieces she can’t get back. So Vaala cries in her sleep for something she can’t forget. Vaala is afraid of the future. She knows now that there is no boy out there for me, for us. She doesn’t trust me so much anymore after Grant and frankly, I don’t blame her. I don’t trust anyone no more. She is my alter ego with a beautiful name from the bird girl, the shadow girl, the clue in Paul’s virtual world. Vaala, my Goddess Vaala.

Anya is the guardian angel. I often wondered if she ever had wings but she has never told me and I never dared to ask. We are both outcasts ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time. I fell from the sky and she was sent here, both knowing there was somewhere else we were supposed to be. She has a memory of the place but I can’t feel it. I don’t call on her so much anymore and she has retreated further and further into her garden of tangled vines and rich earthy smells. She is an angel of the earth, the soil, the natural mysteries. She cannot guard me from myself anymore and she is ashamed.

Anorexia is Claire’s domain. She knows all about it. All the facts. All the figures. And she knows that we aren’t really anorexic because if we were then we’d be able to see it, right? She knows that we eat breakfast, we sometimes eat lunch and we have so much nut butter that we are truly going to burst one day. We’d know if we were anorexic. She’d know. She’d tell us. Anyway, Mysta says it’s all just a game and if we really wanted to then we could just stop playing. If we really didn’t like the game anymore then we could just end it all. I’m not sure what she means. It’s funny, it’s like I think she means we could end all of this with our own rather timely death. And I know what she is getting at. There is a reason we keep playing her game. Because it’s fun. We like games. Anyway, we can stop anytime, right? But we don’t want to.

Claire doesn’t think it’s so funny though.

The girl in the black business suit and the dark hair pulled back sharply into a high ponytail is very efficient. She has lots to do and no time to stop and talk. She doesn’t like to trouble herself with trivial matters like the rest of us. She has far more important things to do, jobs to do, places to go. “I don’t care if you eat or not, let’s just get on with it, okay?” she says. She never lets us in so we don’t really know her very well. After all, we’re not important in the whole scheme of things. “There isn’t really time to eat anyway ‘cause I’m too busy.” And of course she’s oh so important. I despise her for she is everything I don’t want to be, too busy to care about the real life, too caught up in the material world set against the constant ticking of a perfectly formed clock that speeds up when you have too much to do and slows down when the world gets boring. She doesn’t care about skin, just about what covers it. “Just buy a stupid microwave meal if you’re so worried about it.” We don’t know her name.

Next to her sits the kind old soul who’s still hanging in there but must be almost past it by now. We’ve never been quite sure if they are man or woman. With a wizened face and twinkling eyes, you know that they have been there and done that and come out wise and true. But their time is nearly up. Too tired from all this fighting and pain that has gone on for so long deep inside. To be acknowledged was my final challenge and now that’s been achieved what is left for them? What is left for me? For all of us? Creativity reigns supreme in the gentle soul who holds my hand and guides me over the stitching of that dress I always wanted to make. They take care of Rose when I am gone or hurting the soul. Who will do that if they are not there to help me?

Sometimes I wonder if the old soul was a part of my grandma left behind in me to preserve her memory in our life. She never tried to cover things up from me. She loved me, she really loved me and I her. She taught us all we know about sewing but she never around when I finally mastered it. She had gone. It was in that moment I knew, that it all made sense, the way you held the material and eased it through the thread beneath the foot. It was her final gift to me. I would feel her sometimes in the early days watching me ever so proud as I performed out on the stage. I sung those Papertown songs just for her and she listened. I felt her when I wore her dress she lovingly made for my mother all those years ago, first when I sang about miracles in ‘Joseph’, second when I danced in the night with David who chose me over Julie when I had lost faith in myself. She was there, she is still here. So I wonder if she lives inside of me or whether the gift has manifested itself into my caring elder soul who knows what it’s like to be truly tired and worn out.

“Help me,” cries Rose, but there is nothing I can do.

22/11/04
12.22pm
A child runs free along the deck, her wild curly hair bouncing to the waves. She clutches squashed bread and a slice of that luncheon we all loved as children while munching at a banana. She runs up and down, her movement sporadic with the roll of the boat and her face lit up in shear delight. She is captivating.

I am jealous.

I don't know why. Perhaps it is her carefree beautiful face full of wide-eyed wonderment and joy. My innocence lost, I long to start again, as a child before the rains set in.

Then perhaps it is her energy that only children possess. As my life-force is sucked away, hers grows. I lack the strength to climb the stairs without my head spinning.

Then perhaps it is her simple delight at a piece of bread, some meat, a banana. No care for what the food means, what it contains, what it does to you. Just the simple pleasure of food, eating, being fed. How did I lose that? Why can't it be a pleasure?

So the ferry ploughs on through the rolling waves and we near the soul destroyer, the city, the smoke, the noise, the drab upright nature of the future.

All becomes lost.

9.28pm
They lied. The evil scary man lied but I should not have been surprised. We hate him, we fear him, we are not safe. But it was no surprise. I should have known. But Sue lied too. I trusted her and again that trust was misplaced. What is this place if it is not somewhere that I can be safe, that I can trust people, that they will not let me down? It was my parents, of all people, to jump to my defensive, to protect me, to try and make me feel safe. Once again the world narrows.

17/11/04
It is so awkward, so torturous to be in a room with people who do not know. My mind plays tricks on me, laughing at my fear. Do they suspect? What can they see? It is ridiculous but I can't control it. Mysta thinks it's funny…why can't I tune them out? It's the simple things that frighten me the most, the things people take for granted. A game of table tennis. A bag of chips. A slight breeze.

11/11/04
The freedom of expression.

I thought that art was my chance at discovering myself, accepting and understanding the darkness. You can draw what you cannot or are unwilling to explain. A picture can speak a thousand words. A simple cliché but true.

Obviously we were not working on the same level. Apparently some images are not acceptable in this situation. Apparently my idea of freedom of expression was wrong. It's art therapy for god's sake. Isn't expression of thoughts and feelings the whole bloody point? I feel like a rebellious child at school and wagging my next class. Or I could just keep being disruptive in my drawing. I've got no intention of drawing flowers and colourful patterns. My stark white sheet of paper calls out and I'm not going to start lying to it now just so everyone can sleep better at night believing I'm not dreaming of gravestones and torn up pieces of sky.

20/10/04
You know, at last it feels like spring. The sun, shining proudly against a sparkling blue sky, smothers Queen Elizabeth Square with its warmth. There is a touch of that slightly crisp spring breeze but for the first time in months I can venture out without my fingerless gloves. I can bask in this new found sun and almost feel a joy to be alive. Almost…because there is still that sinking feeling of hopelessness and terrifying fragility. I am a delicate porcelain doll, sickeningly thin, balanced precariously on the edge of a narrow ledge. It is only a matter of time before I fall and shatter, those broken pieces piercing the ones I love. Time, it seems, it not on my side.

27/09/04
There is something about this place. An air of calm spreading through one’s soul even in the heart of a stormy wind. The relentless sound of the waves crashing upon the shore. The faint smell of salty freshness in the breeze. It touches you. I cannot begin to explain its effect against a wounded body like my own except to say that it touches me deep inside. I wish that I had come here much sooner. Maybe then I could have fought the demons and won before they were able to take hold as they have done now.

But that is not to say I have not felt the tremors of movement inside of my body. I have done things that I wouldn’t have dreamed of even a week ago. They may seem so small and insignificant to those standing on the outside but to those here that I have dragged into this battleground with me they are miracles filled with hope.

11/08/04
"Everyone talked about food, all day and all night! No sooner had lunch been finished and cleared away, than supper would be discussed and a shopping list drawn up for the second meal of the day."
- viva l'italia by Julie Biuso (2002)

What is it about food that is so important, that inspires us to eat it? Yes, food is essential to feed the body, to provide it with all the nutrients that it requires to function correctly. I know that. But why is food so important in our lives so that everything we do revolves around food and eating? All occasions are centred around food whether it is popcorn and lollies in a movie right through to turkey and fruit pudding at Christmas time complete with setting the pudding alight with rum. What is it about food that draws us to it, that makes it so powerful as to cure our emotions such as ice cream and chocolate when we are depressed and warm bread and soup when we are cold and wet in the winter?

People spend hundreds of dollars to take their loved one out to a fancy restaurant in town. Three courses, a few hours and it's over, your money's been spent. But suddenly it's this romantic occasion where you gaze into each other's eyes as you share a dessert. Our birthday comes around again and we may want to celebrate by going out to dinner. We will spend all this time dressing up and preparing…for what? Simply to eat. What is it about going out to dinner that symbolises celebration or treat or romance?

Why is it so exciting to have a birthday cake? We make a wish as we blow out the candles then another as the first cut is made. Silly songs are sung and everyone eats…cake. It is simply a cake make from flour and butter and eggs and milk and sugar but yet we treat it as something capable of making all our wishes come true.

We delight in the fatty, greasy texture of battered fish and chips wrapped in newspaper with tomato sauce. It is like reliving our childhood.

At parties there will undoubtedly be chips, dip, roasted nuts. Food. Food so addictive you take handfuls from the bowl without even realising you are doing it. people are often more social once the food comes out. Food acts as a magnet, a safety net, something shared by everyone.

Walk into the bookstore and see the shelves covered in books all about food. How to cook it. How to eat it. What to eat. What to buy. Hundreds of them with rich glossy photos all of food in its powerful glory. We are put off by food that does not look or smell appealing but the food that does we will drool over, dream about, desire.

Different cultures may have different customs with food; how it is prepared, what is eaten, even how it is eaten but every culture revolves around it. Even fasting. For what is fasting but a period where you cannot eat. A culturally significant event. Celebrations, no matter what they are, involve food. It is the central core of human existence.

27/07/04
It is another wet morning at the beach but at least the temperature has risen from yesterday. Seagulls are circling the park benches searching for remnants of a meal left behind from a previous night. Despite the rain, Browns Bay still serves as a highway for man and his dog. The dark angry clouds frame the sky above a dominating silhouette of Rangitoto Island framing the horizon while I sit in my car longing for freedom, for release from my curse.

12/07/04
I am a small, frail flower, a fragile ornament, a feather in a wind storm…falling towards the hard stone ground to shatter across their hearts. It is amazing that I still stand…I am stronger yet than anyone knew and yet they are right, I am a lone daisy torn apart by the rain.

08/07/04
Have you ever been in a helicopter before? To float above the world like you had left your own skin for a while? To look down on the world you live in and yet see something quite removed from the place you remember? I have never seen anything so amazing, so beautiful, with my own eyes.

Swooping low over the vast canopies of trees that seem to stretch out for miles. Chasing waves on the west coast as if we were surfers playing chicken with the swell. Twisting and turning through gaps in rock walls framing the wild coastline like a sickening rollercoaster ride. Following rivers to meet rushing waterfalls where you are so close you feel you could just reach out and feel the spray of the water on your hands. Hovering low amongst the trees feeling like an extension of the forest. Discovering a secret walkway through a tunnel of bush like something straight out of a story. I am reminded of reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It seems to hold memories just beyond my grasp.

The hour of beauty and magic is of course over too soon and we journey back across the tiny buildings and houses of West Auckland and over the familiar landscape out the back of Albany to land a reality and the fantasy world through my eyes comes to a close once more.

30/05/04
Let me tell you, it is incredible what the human body can cope with. How much pressure can you put it under before it cannot take it anymore and you become nothing more than dust? I stop to wonder if perhaps I am about to find out. It feels near…don't tell me I don't want it because you are not here.

While clearing out my room I found pieces of a year that I wanted to forget and a letter to someone I love. Strange visions and a desperation to tell my story which has never gone away. Perhaps there is a sign. Last September I wrote, "I am not mad, just madly overtired." What if I was wrong? What if I was mad all along?

I can never clear my head.

01/05/04
It is now 5.30am and I am still at work. Sometimes I step outside of my body and think, "what the hell am I doing?" I guess this is one of those times. Yesterday morning I was up by this time walking the streets of Bucklands Beach. In between then and now I have had an hour of sleep and even that was spent tossing and turning on a couch in a terribly noisy apartment in town. It's funny though, I really like this time of day because it's so quiet and peaceful. There's no one else in this entire building so I can get on with the work without feeling afraid.

It's now 7.30am and it is a miserable wet day out my edit suit window. I guess it's a perfect day to sleep so I should be thankful. Not long to go till I can go home but it all doesn't feel right you know. I feel sickeningly thin…not like physically thin but deep down inside. It's like Bilbo says, "like butter scrapped over too much bread."

29/04/04
Looking at footage shot over Ruapehu and I feel moved. So clear and peaceful, isolated and wild. I feel like I'm drowning in it. The sun is so clear and warm that the icy
cold from the storm outside can't touch me. A slice of paradise on a 14 inch TV screen. Get off your seat and step inside the picture.

All I want to do is curl up in bed and sleep forever. Everything in me is so tired. My muscles are stiff and beginning to cease working, I can barely walk down the hallway, I can't seem to keep my eyes open and I would do anything to just lie down. I cannot say no to anything so my life becomes more mixed up.

11/04/04
So many voices screaming in my head wanting out of this mad world we're stranded in together. I can't help thinking I've ended up in the wrong place. Everything's so fake, so coarse, so harsh…

28/03/04
The stars are beautiful…like a paradise long forgot…

I am reminded of a message someone once sent me when I was afraid in the night…"the stars always shine. Always present behind that veil, you don't have to look to know that they're there."

I was at the planetarium last night…always wanted to go but never got around to it. The effect hangs on you…gazing up at the roof of stars they had created it was like I was flying again…like the meditation of that afternoon. So calming and peaceful.

20/03/04
I have officially graduated…worn the gown, donned the trencher, received my degree.

I suppose the weirdest thing of it all though was that I don't remember the experience. I was so tired and floating on some other plane that by the time my name was called out and I walked across that stage to receive my degree I wasn't part of it any more. The march up Queen Street with our police escort and our paparazzi of Cherie's parents and Deane with the video camera was pretty cool though…until I rolled my ankle! Cherie delighted in pointing out to anyone who'd listen that I'd made my dress which should have been flattering I suppose but I was more embarrassed than anything because I guess it highlighted the differences between me and them in some stark web-like way. Well, I suppose my black hair did too but at least that was more within their understanding of creation.

I guess standing back now I'm just glad the day is over. There are some memories and experiences best left behind to haunt the campus. I can grow without the beautiful people to make me feel and look inadequate. I do vaguely remember someone's speech during the ceremony mentioning something about the friends you meet at university being your friends for life and I guess they are right. If I have come out of there with nothing else at least I have made two friends I know will last me my lifetime.

12/03/04
If I could only hear one sound for the rest of my life it would be the sound of the sea. So relaxing, so calming. I don't know what it is about the sound but it is the most beautiful thing I know. Maybe it is the constant but irregular ripple of movement and the tinkling sound the waves make as they crash upon the sand. Maybe it's because the sound feels like home. Or maybe it's just magic. I believe…

There are two old pages from a book floating in the water below me. I idly wonder if I should wade in and get them...but they are just drowned memories. There is a cool breeze on my feet, bare and kitten-scratched, but the evening chill hasn't quite set in enough yet for me to put my shoes and socks back on yet. It is a funny version of paradise here above the beach but below the cliffs watching as the tide goes out and the birds of the sea call to one another.

The page in the water begins to call to me. Maybe I shall venture down after all…Wilson and Webb, pages from a phonebook burnt round the edges. Was someone trying to erase a memory of another so bad they let it burn and then wash out to sea? Or is there a higher purpose to me fetching the pages from the water? It is mere fantasy I suppose but more enthralling than believing I pulled them out for no reason.