It's like a button, in the ceiling. I could press it, and something else could happen. Something else. I spread my arms. I'm doing that lately. Wind blows, a person is near, a yawn escapes, the sky shouts. A silent hug.

We are all in our respective bubbles. Someone makes a comment, and laughter erupts spontaneously like a giant squishy puddle that everyone steps into and splashes in, glorious justified bouts of preschool montessori mudfights. I wish. Under lights, sitting at night, joined laughter floating on the air through open windows, dissolving into the dark warmth of the night.

I am sitting there, and a photo detaches and floats off to the ground. Just like that. Off. I examine the sticky stuff on the back and it is still there. Things have tolerances, and they snap. Like wood, she says. Words are more vocal. I wonder what that means. I put it back up, tightly this time, and then I suddenly see the curled corners of everything else on the wall.

Descriptions work like chemistry, the right pinch works wonders, the wrong one destroys everything. I wish I was a good chemist. Mixing things is hard, especially at night with the lonely lighthouses rotating for wailing beaches, whispering with silent sighs. I stare out the window, and all I feel is a giant roaring in my ears, and my hands shake. I spill.

Distractions come from left and right, but adrenaline rushes come with the cryptic yet transparent exchanges with true friends. Seeing through. Riding on the same wavelength, over dinner after a dusky sunday meeting. Speaking the same words with different phrases.

Scrabble. So many letters, so many words, so many lives. A million monkeys on a million typewriters, Shakespeare, someday, they say. So many eyes so many words so many things that flow. Someday, I will learn the secret of words, read in ancient palms of maple leaves and from the flickering shadows of light on grass and bark on a lazy spring afternoon, floating dust and warm breezes and white curtains and all.

It's just another tick on your resume of emotions. Just another experience to be utilitarian about, a confidence booster, a reinforcement. But when is too much too much? Isn't there an absolute sympathy? An absolute sadness? Or is it all just another rearrangement of chemicals to improve your reaction time, and thicken the skin?

You use your experiences, because that's what optimism is. A constant saying "no" to caving in. Because who cares if you're having a bad day? Who wants to know who really cares?

This is what selfish is. This is why perseverance, and determination, and positivity are key words to an invisible, invincible dogma that drives everyone insane. It's why humans don't exist anymore, and no one seems to notice.

Note, December 8 2004: this writing is more a reflection of some of my first impressions of a certain college and its left-brained patrons

I’m not sure whether to run and hide under something or to do a dance of joy.

Tomorrow at this time I’m going to see him for the first time in three years. Three years!

It was one of those college relationships. I was the bright-eyed freshman and he was the sarcastic senior. It was love at first sight in the truest, purist sense. We shared an unmistakable lust for life. We climbed on things, bounced everywhere we went, wrestled in the grass, and showed off our superior tumbling skills whenever we could. Neither of us has ever found another match in energy, I’m fairly sure none exists. We were both nerdy about most of the same things, and it was stars and music, albeit the star Vega,and Danny Elfman music.

When he graduated every fiber in my body screamed to beg him to stay, but I wouldn’t let myself. His job prospects were much better out west. So I told him he could go – that we would work it out. I meant that.

…and we did, for 2 years anyway. But then the distance got to us. I broke up with him, but he might as well have broken up with me, it’s not actually important. What IS important is we decided to give each other space, and time. Kind of a “Let’s date other people and then see if we still want to get married and have 2.5 kids and a dog and 2 cats and pull in a bunch of money for the pool and the house and the kids will need money for college and we’ll love each other forever and ever and ever” thing. Stories like this always end up with the people back together, any way… right?

One cheating, slut-ass bitch of a fiancée later, he’s coming to visit me... with his brand-new girlfriend. I haven’t seen him in three years, but I still love him. Not in a “kill the girlfriend to get him back” way, but in an uncomfortable, things were never really resolved way. I’m looking forward to seeing him, because technically we’re “friends

…but the promises keep popping up in my head.

Oh, God. Only 24 hours

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