September 13, 2007
You would be deeply disappointed in this last batch of ice cubes�Since I did not properly fill the trays last night (being relatively incoherent due to an unseemly amount of Miller Light), I am now suffering through the activity of digging into each square in order to acquire one solitary cube to celebrate this early decree of cocktail hour. The added effort sucks (mostly) almost as much as the ice cube pools spreading slowly across my kitchen floor after I attempted to garner them via �a gentle bang� against the fridge.
Small beans, I know, but it�s just one more ray of blinding madness added to a day already filled with too much sun. On the one morning I hoped to wake to overcast skies to fit my mood, I get the f�ing falsity of an infuriatingly perfect sunshine. Laura is not pleased.
Laura wants a do-over.
Having an opportunity to begin last night anew, I would have gone straight to bed after my 10:00PM meeting at Carroll. The reading of my book would have replaced the thrinking (thinking + drinking) that actually occurred and the sleeping would have replaced my uncanny inability to resist all contact. The dreaming would have replaced the idiotic post of a brambling (beer + rambling) sod. And, finally, the well-rested eyes would have replaced the bloated blur of a girl I saw in the mirror this morning�
But since life only strikes furiously forward, I can now only regret the poorly balanced amount of water in my ice cube trays and the impertinent fact that I hit �send� on my f�ing phone. This has all the makings of a really crappy apology (circular, in nature, tends not to work when one is truly sorry so perhaps I�m only halfway sorry or slightly sorry or, as of yet, undecided), dimmed only by the fact that I have slightly soaked socks.
The point (ah HA! A point!) is that you�ve been creeping up on me lately like a stalker with a very busy schedule. Suddenly, you�re here, tugging at my thoughts, barging in on my quietude, slicing the night with your unrelenting wiles, marking my conscience with your invisible footprints � making it so I cannot imagine another thing as important � and then there I am� Completely lost.
I wonder why I can see the sky reflected in your eyes when I close my own. What is it, exactly, you�re searching for up there? What has caught you, what are you thinking and what has life placed before you? What is it? It�s something. Bigger than you and bigger than my lame attempts at finding out. It�s remarkable and strange, uncomfortable and consistent, scary and silent. And I want to know because I can�t let it go.
On Tuesday, September 11, it became all the more impossible to ignore. So much was and still is and will always be wrapped around that date and, when I pulled out the �Life on Two Wheels� scrapbook to show a friend where I�ve been, I couldn�t help but to become overwhelmed by your smile.
And so I reached out without thought or control (but with loads of heart), desperate to see that smile once more. I hope it�s still there, brighter than ever, brilliant as the sky reflected in your eyes.
I really am most genuinely sorry about the ice cubes.