Friday, July 27, 2007

Sound Road

Sometimes I raise my hand outside of the rolled-down window. I do not signal. I do not wave.

I feel the air, let my fingers run through it,

then take the wheel again.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

I will sit and earn the ransom from up here

The day: long grass, hot sun, port-a-potties that don't flush (which should be outlawed), Sudoku, the Hobbit, sleeping, parks near the Interstate, old friends, riding deer, fired up and letting up.

I know it will all turn for the best eventually, but I am wistful right now.

Then again, it hasn't ended. And as I watch, I am convinced, I tell myself, I make myself believe, that now there is no pain.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

The other

As I sat on a rock after my swim, I considered telling the little girl and her grandfather to not be afraid of the water. I’ve lived here most of my mortal life, I’d say.

They would reply, And what about the other one?

Wednesday, July 18, 2007


I feel good. I feel strong.

I land on floor without a twinge or shock of a stressed ligament. I raise my arms above my head, as I should. And I walk away, lightly, ready for the next turn.

Even the storms were not much of anything the other night. Flashes out the window. Pouring rain outside of open windows. But after some Wii golf, the rain slackened, losing interest, leaving us alone with steam rising off of the streets.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

An innovative use for a Spanish degree:

Translating Carissa's text messages from her boyfriend.

Of the best ones

I watch her spin around
in her highest heels
You are the best one
of the best ones

-Dashboard Confessional

Reflections on 7-11

Even though I feel the urge to work my abs, the past two nights have been highly enjoyable -- plotted yet spontaneous enough to keep me moving.

I love my friends. I love to dance. Let's think about that one.

Ah! Let's raise to not thinking.

Monday, July 09, 2007

It was supposed to be one of the hottest days yet.

I stepped outside of the air-conditioned office. My car is not unbearably stuffy and the wind carries the sun. The cheetah sunglasses keep me from squinting and I realize that commercials, not music, are playing.

But I am happy. I am good at what I do.

I feel like it is the beginning of June, that things are just starting to happen, or should be doing so.

I watch her spin around in her highest heels

There's a bit of a disjoint as we sit and chat about those things that some of us went to and others weren't invited to, hint around at the things that some of us know and others pretend not to, try to joke and prevent anything from being too obviously wrong.

I find myself bored in those times that are supposed to be "fun" and especially entertained when "fun" just happens. Sure, I'd like to rock out as much as the next person. But "the next person" isn't who I'd want to be with.

But tonight I raised my water and knew that if it were liquor, this would be just right.

Thursday, July 05, 2007

But I did dream

that Lena, Natalie, and I were all attending grad school at MIT. Oh, my.

I don't know;

it's just
a weird sort of disjointed day where you know it's bad news on the phone but that you need to have your Cheerio's or you'll regret it later. You've woken up from a night of roaming the beach with a flashlight as a fourteen-year-old boy sings that you're a pirate. You have greasy pizza for lunch and find out that you've got a four-day weekend. It's raining on the Fourth of July and you think that it's fitting because you don't want to celebrate. Little boys whistle as you run down the block. You run down to the beach, but there are too many cars disturbing your peace. Silly people so overly-enthused. You dance in the kitchen because you cannot wait to do gymnastics. "I'm all right," you answer. Your skills in Mario Tennis have improved. "Goodnight, I love you!" the boy says from his sheet cocoon, already falling asleep in his pillow.

You know that it will not be a good two, or many, days.

Tuesday, July 03, 2007


Driving fast, all right. But I'm impressed by people who can get in their cars quickly. "See ya later!" they say as they find their keys. Then bam, they're out of the parking lot.

How do they do it?

Sunday, July 01, 2007


As we walk down the stairs, Kelsey turns to me and whispers, "The balloon is musical."