So here I sit, in my perch of power,
high above the world (about 4′ up) in
my gigantor throne of referenceness;
when all of a sudden my empty library fills.
I just went from ten students cheerily emailing
to 50 students and a nun frantically hitting
ctrl-p “PRINT!” like armaggedon’s scheduled
just after lunch. Nobody sent me the memo.
Port Townsend didn’t happen. Nor did the
pajama party (which I failed to mention previously),
nor did the big lunch date. So, I vegetated
all weekend (mine is Sunday and Monday); and
developed a serious case of the red eye –
“blood for eyes”. Gah!
–
Tonight is the dance of swing: the end of
one week of patience and the beginning of a new.
I’ve been working on letting things be what they are.
I remember too well the summer before I met Emily,
pining about at two in the morning;
walking across town to tap-tap-tap at
Theo’s windows so we could drive to Denny’s and
have an exi-romanti-crisal midnight-freakout;
chasing after a girl that never wanted to be caught
but was completely willing to use me for a thrill.
And yet even now I’m unsure if:
those were the best of times,
or the worst of times.
But the fact that I’m quoting Dickens scares me.
Time to flee. Ciao.