It's never too late.

And I mean flushed in the non-bathroom sort of way

Weighing my pockets with stones of longing

Especially when those days are Saturday and Sunday.

They always come crawling back

Writing based on notes is always a bit frustrating, but it gives a nice patina of retrospection, and a bit more brevity to my accounts. Which is usually sorely lacking.
I made a note that read simply "my friends". The break reminded me of just how glad I am to have them in the first place. All four of us, remarkably, spent a lot of time together, just hanging out, being around each other. It felt very relaxed and comfortable and ordinary, like in high school. Like it was something we do every day, though it had been months since we'd all seen each other, and years since we'd spent that kind of time all together. Funny, too, to think that both Hillary and Tara's moms have moved to houses of their own since back then, and that we made them places for us, too.

I had a note in my AIM profile for a while that said: "Tonight one of my best friends told me "You look normal." That's the first time she's said such a thing in the thirteen years that we've known each other. Then she stuck her finger down the back of my pants. Love you girls!" That is an interesting development among us that I remember wishing we had, that is physical contact. Tara and Hillary were holding hands whenever they were close enough to touch, and when we went to see Hillary in the Messiah, we all slept together in the same bed, and there was a lot of goofing around, smacking, faux-fondling, etc. Very funny, and liberating. It is amazing to me that we spent five hours during which Tara was working on her resume, I was organizing sewing supplies, and Zoe and Hill were just laying around... and we were all totally amused and content. I could talk about all the other drama of the Messiah which I didn't mention before, but I don't think it's as important as our dynamics. Except for the sign that said "Iowa Boar Semen Sold Here." That was pretty awesome.

I finally got to celebrate my birthday on the weekend after the actual day. Early on Saturday morning I got to open my present--a "My Double" dress form, factory sealed--and eat enough thin pancakes to fill an immodestly greedy man of twice my size and stature. Then I worked, of course. But Saturday night, the girls took me out to a movie. We went to "I heart Huckabees" at Old Capitol. I loved it, as crazy as it was. By the end of the movie, we were the only people left in the theater, so while the credits were rolling we danced and spun and leapt and hollered in the aisles, and, emboldened by the philosophical ramifications of the film, I walked on the chair arms all the way across the rows (a defiantly brilliant feat of balance on my part). As we stumbled, dizzy, out of the establishment, we mimicked back and forth the question, "How can I not be myself?" And as I was repeating it, I looked down and saw the nametag-like-sticker on my sweater that read "My Double."

Shortly after this, my living room caught on fire. Thankfully my mom is a night owl, and somewhere between 32 Across and 18 Down, she noticed there was a 4 inch hole through all the layers of our carpet and flooring. She and my dad got it stamped out by the time I got home, somewhere around 1:30.

Apparently over the break I had a dream about coin collecting, which is the ultimate in nerdiness, but now I can't remember the details. I have been a proud numismatist since the tender age of... whenever I lost my first tooth and got a silver dollar for it. But I had a nasty habit of giving them away to my friends as birthday presents, or good luck charms, or on whims of generosity, so I dont have many left. I kept finding coins at work from far-off places in Africa and the middle East, and I started thinking it was a sign that I should travel. Having sent in that application to teach in France just might do the trick. I wonder if my plan to smuggle medical supplies into Mali will ever come to fruition.

Near the end of break, things were on a pretty steady rhythm of working endlessly, coming home to fall asleep on the couch still wearing my coat until Dad would wake me up for dinner, then watching mind-numbing TV until the wee hours of the morning when I could collapse into bed safely assured of not having to think about anything until the next morning, but only until the first stream of customers would come pouring through the glass doors. Little things kept my days exciting, like Scottie the Don Knotts security guard rapping gently on the store window to say hello, another heart-warming thank you note from Phil, and Dave Balmer showing up with his girlfriend and saying that I am easy to like.

Backtracking--On the merits of friendship at 8:07 p.m.
part three