I got a package today that made me happy! It had bubble wrap in it, and a mix tape. Top that! I like. But that comes in the middle of the sequence, so i'll start at an earlier arbitrary point..

I was happily working along, i was guiding a customer through installing software over the phone, simultaneously working on our website, simultaneously watching the chatterbox, when Mishele brought around the ice cream. Ice cream for everybody! I didn't get to thank her because i was on the phone, but i thank her. At first, a year ago now, when they hired her, i jumped to conclusions at the name while i set up her accounts and thought, just what the marketing frickin' department needs, a silly, silly woman who can't even spell her own name. To add to the gossip klatch that it is. Ah, but i underestimated her. She's silly, but kindhearted. A worthwhile person. I only make these harsh judgments in jest, you understand. At any rate, hooray for ice cream. Of course, at the same time, ToasterLeavings got a beer.. but i wasn't jealous. I was sweating from playing frisbee at lunch with Abdiel, and the melting ice cream was perfect, and reminded me of the night before.

Ah, but i'm rambling. The next thing that happens is X calls. He wants to know if it's ok for him to come up this weekend, to get some of his stuff. He can't find a job in New York, and everything is going badly. Except - everything is always going badly for him. I, against my better judges shouting out, say that there's no problem because i can't find a good script that would leave me still generous. And i am so generous. He verifies - you sure? I verify - uh, i guess.   sure. i'm, sure.   oh. kay.

So he's coming up. After work hours, there's a beer flag downstairs and Rick is telling stories. They're the kind of stories that make you wonder if you weren't brought up in a ball of cotton - full of drunkenness and blood. My father has worked with this guy for 12 years and still has not heard all of his barfights and drunk encounters with cops stories. He keeps swearing on his "daughter's life." The stories are entrancing as i imagine bullfights must be. Broken beer bottles and borrowed guns and car chases and public urination and nightsticks. I'm glad to have been brought up in a ball of cotton - or i would not have this pretty face! - but glad i know Rick. I missed most of the story, though, because i tried to call X and got our friend - the one he's staying with - who confirms that he's left already but it's silly for him to come here, when he's running out of money and bus tickets cost so much, and the things he needs could be sent to him: the upshot is, he's coming to see me. And i don't need that.

It's not that i don't love him. It's that love is so complicated.

I have problems of my own. And i have joys that he is not a part of, and so, when i come home to the package on my doorstep, with photos of people i almost know but none of the sender, and the tape i'm listening to right now, i am so happy. Thank you! Thank you. I am on my fourth beer, X will be here soon i'm sure, so forgive me my rambles. I thought i was free but i am tied by my compassion, or whatyoucallit.