Do You Want To Come In?

Check me out. Erin said that she didn't really like me writing about her in here instead of just saying things to her face, but here I am, writing away.

Erin wasn't really responding to my texts. She wasn't exactly answering my phone calls. She most certainly was not calling me back. After about a week of this, I was convinced that there must be something up. Turns out I was right. She happened to also be sick that week, but that major player here was this very blog. She stumbled upon this thing most likely by following comments on Adam's Italy blog (not a big deal as I did originally gave her the address, but she told me she couldn't deal with the rules, and would therefore not read it). She most likely did what most people would do, and searched her name to see if I'd written about her, which of course I have. She found the old entry about herself, and focused in on a very specific portion of it.

I wrote about Paul, very briefly. Keep in mind that this was about a year and a half after he'd gone. My observation sounded cold,

"She has experienced shit, and her life is so empty, that it almost makes me angry. Paul died, and killed a large portion of her. The bags under her eyes are my monument to him, and they will seemingly never let me forget him or his impact on her. If I were to want her to love me, I am not sure that I'd ever be convinced that I had 100% of her. She belongs to him still, and I do not know how to help her let go; I'm not sure if she's ready to yet.
It was always understood (by her and I) that she and Paul would end up together after he cleaned up."

Now, to me, this doesn't sound as bad as I suppose it might to someone else. What I meant at the time was that Paul had become such a big part of her life, and with him gone, she didn't know how to refill that void yet. There is an interesting phenomenon to mention now. In some clinical studies, scientists looked at hibernating animals in order to understand the relationship between calories, fat, metabolism, exercise, and obesity. Basically, a hibernating animal is a very obese form of its normal self. The animal puts on a tremendous amount of weight in anticipation of a cold hard season that would yield an insubstantial amount of food to continue daily living. The weight is in the form of fat (brown fat, I believe), and it serves as an energy source for the animal, who then enters a state of something sleep-like wherein they can dramatically reduce their energy requirements. This reduction is generally attributed to the drastic lowering of core body temperature and the slowing down of all bodily functions. Blah blah blah, we all know how hibernation works, I guess. Anyways, scientists would take an animal who was in the midst of hibernation and then surgically remove a portion of their fat. Now, I'm not sure what I would have expected to happen, but what happened was certainly unexpected. The animal regenerated the lost fat to compensate. Considering that no additional food was going IN to the animal, it's baffling to try to figure out how they managed to regenerate fat to replace that which was removed. The point of this, though, is that when an important part of them was removed without their permission, they were able to replace it with something just as valuable that ultimately may save their life.

Erin is a hibernating ground squirrel, and Paul was forcibly removed by a curious surgeon. Her self has since regrown and recouped, in a way that ultimately saved her life. While once she was cold inside and her heart was beating very slowly, she is now gallivanting about the meadow with a thousand acorn-producing trees in each direction. The piece of her that was taken has not prevented this from happening.

To continue, Erin must have read the various parts of that post in which I extol her virtues and proclaim undying secret love for her. I wonder why I don't feel more embarrassed about this? I mean, she must have put the pieces together to understand that nothing has really changed, right? I think so, at least.

On Friday night, I had my bike and a jones for some trouble. I laced up and hopped on the light rail in to Phoenix. I rode in to downtown, where I got off and rode over to her (parents') house. I texted her, "Can you come outside for a minute?" and waited about for about ten. No answer, so I called her. She woke up and came outside to talk. We talked lightly for a minute or two to lighten up the mood or something? We hadn't spoken for like two weeks now, right? Then I just launched in to it and asked her what was going on. Laundry list. I hurt her with the stuff that I'd said. She didn't understand why I didn't just say it to her. She always comes to me with her problems, and maybe she should start to distance because she won't always be able to do that. A few others. Nothing that really surprised me, I guess. I apologized, because I think this was largely misunderstanding. She can't tell if I'm writing facetiously sometimes or not. Fair enough. I almost spilled guts when I started to tell her about how she had confused with me a few things, but it just didn't feel right yet.

Eventually, it became time to leave. I made motions to this effect, and she said that she would walk me to the light rail stop, which was right near her (parents') house. She was barefoot, but insisted that it wasn't a problem. We walked and talked and it was cute. Got to the light rail, bought a ticket, sat down. We continued to talk. Light rail arrives, but there appears to be approximately three crap loads of people on it, and no more bike hooks open, so I say that I'll just ride to the next stop and catch a less busy one. We start walking back to her house then, since I'm not going to get straight on a train. I don't remember when or how, but she offers to drive me home. I sort of felt like riding actually, but the night seemed unfinished, so I said okay. Drive home is light, but fun still. At the apartment too soon.

An interesting exchange occurred at the apartment. She had stopped the truck, but it was still running. We had a moderately awkward, "okay, well, I guess, goodbye then?" sort of moment happening, so I said, "Do you want to come in?" I was almost joking, but not really. Then, in a tremendous mindfuck, she thinks about it for a seconnnnnnnnnnnndddddddddddddddddd that lasted what God considers to be eternity. She eventually declined, due to lack of privacy, sort of? I mean, I don't think she was even considering the extrapolated extreme ending that is implied by my question, but it's fun to live in fantasies, isn't it? It feels like being a goldfish. You live in a fish tank with a castle and a rock and a seaweed thing. When finally someone introduces another goldfish to your tank, it is the beginning of an epoch. A new era of existence that surpasses your three month memory. Something better than a new castle, or a piece of coral, or a diver guy with a treasure chest that floats bubbles to the top of your tiny world. You can't ignore it when God puts a new colored rock there, but after three months, you forget why the rock was interesting in the first place. You always have someone to swim in circles with, though.

As for love:
"If you have it, you don't need to have anything else, and if you don't have it, it doesn't matter much what else you have."
-Sir James M. Barrie

More and more

Some of my friends have postulated that I have an odd ability to befriend people who will need me in a significant way at some point. Some of my friends consider this a weakness. Some of my friend consider this a strength. Some of my friends probably don't think this is true anyways. I think that I do tend to meet people who are in hard places in life. Or maybe everyone has those hard places, and I just tend to be around when they go down. Whatever. The point is that I seem to always be called on during major crises. I've mentioned before that I love this about my life. It is kind of like being good at a really important job. I don't know, like being a food safety investigator who has never let an outbreak of E. Coli slip by on his watch or something. I mean, the other thing here is that people define crisis in different ways. For some, the crisis is simply whether or not to take a chance on loving someone unexpected. For others, it is whether they are going to be able to survive living with their parents any longer. For others still it is whether they will have a home and their daughter when they leave. I helped Terra move out of her mesa house and away from her raging husband. I packed up her uhaul. I drove to tucson to help unload it. I even slept there and tried to help console her. I tried to convince Heather that it was going to work out (it did). Et cetera et cetera. Et Set Terra. I wonder if it is that people who need me find me, or that people that I need find me. Or maybe that I'm just more aware of people who need help. I don't know. I think that it really comes down to whether I'm here for everyone else, or if they're here for me.

Stranger Dazier

I am sitting at a window. A girl who looks like Chelsea is outside playing with her daughter and husband. The small orange trees outside the window move slightly because of the wind, and the flowers move even more. I'm hot. Espresso hits me like a flaming brick, and I just had two shots in a very quick drink. I catch a draft every so often from someone opening a door behind me, and I think that I'm feeling what the trees feel. I've decided that I like the sound of wind through pine trees. It is a nonviolent brushing noise that is like a very large man walking heavily. Intimidating for no reason at all. The steam wand makes a good attempt at impression, and I have to wonder about the serendipity of things. I look at friends often and think, "How can they still not know who I am?" It occurs to me that Leslie does, which is odd. We don't see each other, and I always feel like I'm sort of bothering her at least a little bit, or like she has so many fun friends and I'm always too serious. At the same time though, I really do tell her things. Not that all of my friends have betrayed me (most have not), but I really believe her when she says that she won't tell anyone. Maybe it's because we don't have any overlapping circles; rays pointed in different directions. She is moving to Tucson. I am sad about this for no reason. I don't see her now, even though we live within ten or fifteen miles of each other. I hope that she does well where she's going. Maybe I like that she does what I feel like I cannot do. She moves through her world with blinders on. She is just running straight forward towards nothing at all, not letting heavy people slow her down. She is living largely for her own purposes, which she isn't even sure of. She goes to California. I feel like I'm tied down. Like if I leave, people will die. I am in the crowd on which she is being carried, maybe. If I am rooted in the ground, blowing straight up with all of my breath, she is the person that I'm keeping aloft. The roots are what worry me. They aren't my body. They are the invasive tendrils of beautiful dying things. Little orange trees stand up against gentle winds, but they are in the pots that I put them in. I'm constantly nailing metal hoops around wooden pots. I need to make metal pots for more trees.

Strange Daze

I always wonder if no one is as perceptive as me. When I am acting obviously not myself, no one ever seems to realize that and ask me what's up. They float on by like so many idiot butterflies. I generally recognize the distress in other people, and if they haven't already told me (most people can't wait to tell you about the stress or problems in their life), I will ask what is wrong. I try not to pry. If they say something about not wanting to talk about it, or that they are fine and just drop it, I let it go. The point though is that I ask. Now, when I am not myself, and I am responding to things in ways that I would never normally respond, I wonder why no one asks me what is wrong. They claim after the fact that if I had only told them that I was having a bad day, they would have understood. But that's not the point. I struggle with isolation and invisibility. I want to know that someone sees me, despite my best attempts at hiding. I feel like I see a lot of people like me , and they usually become my friends, which must mean that they also wanted secretly to be found. But still no one asks. They let me snap at them. They let me respond without sympathy to sympathetic situations. They let me say nothing at all, which is against my nature. I don't care if I've insulted you in this way. If you were a friend, you'd know that it wasn't my normal response, and you should be worried. If a person suddenly falls to the floor and convulses, the thought process is "Oh what the hell? This isn't normal. Is this a joke? I think it's serious. What's the problem? How can I help?" unless you're an asshole, in which case the thought process is "Oh what the hell? This isn't normal. I'm getting weirded out. I'm out of here." So why when I'm verbally and emotionally convulsing, everyone seems to just get the fuck out of here? What a strange week.

Regarding Getting A New House

So I faxed the application for the new house in yesterday morning at work. Actually, let's redo this. Here was my day:

6am - wake up
630 - work
900 - fax application for carpet free house
930 - leave work, eat excellent breakfast burrito
1030 - shower
1130 - arrive at church
1200 - mass
130 - leave church, head to paul's dad's house for reception remembrance thing
200 - get call saying that grandmother may be dying, should go see her in hospital
245 - arrive at hospital
330 - leave hospital
345 - call landlord, tell him that I faxed the application...he says he'll look tomorrow for it
350 - get awesome soy mocha from Lux
425 - pick up vegan BLT from mandala...super delicious
500 - get back to church
600 - mass
745 - finally leave church
845 - rockband
1000 - talk to erin on the phone. She says that the landlord already called her (around 5ish) because I had listed her as a reference on the application. She said he was sort of weird, but that he was impressed by my plans to go to medical school and stuff. She said it went pretty well.
That's all. He should be calling me today, I think. I'll update as I know.

Dirt and Water

Today was one year.

Secret Lover pt something

I'm going to the movies with Secret Lover tonight. We are going to see Juno, which I've already seen (but she doesn't know that). So the plan is that I will pick her up from her place and we are going to go eat or drink or something before the movie. Then, after the movie, we're going back to her house and I'm going to record a song with Mike, her live-in boyfriend. He is majoring in electronic music and music production so he has some decent equipment, and he actually knows how to use it. I'm going to be trying to finish this song, but if I can't came to a close on it, I'll just cover something. Any suggestions on what I might cover?

"dirt and water salvation" by Me

desperate petals
float on gentle winds
please find their stems

roses frozen in snow
outline porcelain repose
don't think anybody knows

the earth breaths him in
dirt and water; salvation
set free by his sin
can we do this all over again?

did anybody hear
secret cries for help?

did anybody smell
skin melting away?

the earth breaths him in
dirt and water; salvation
set free by his sin
can we do this all over again?

Strange Strange Time

Sometimes I like to fantasize about not eating. At all. For long periods of time, like political statement long. Just let myself whither away. Muscle. Fat. Skin. Hair. Nails. Teeth. Let it all beg for salvation. But just let it all die. I don't think that I'D die this way, rather, I think I see it as a rebirth. A way to shed all the muscle that reminds me how strong I USED to be, and the skin that reminds me how clear it USED to be, and the fat that reminds me just how fat I AM. A way to put a pile of plates in the ground and cover it in dirt. A way to grow daisies with memories, instead of dreams. Are pain and results directly proportional? They just might be. I'm sure that all things worthwhile are painful, but I'm not yet positive that the most worthwhile are also the most painful. Is there any way else that I could be? I don't think so. So for the ultimate birth, I guess I'd be needing the ultimate death.

"Give me love
Give me love
Give me peace on earth
Give me light
Give me life
Keep me free from birth
Give me hope
Help me cope, with this heavy load
Trying to, touch and reach you with,
heart and soul
O(h)m my Lord...
Please take hold of my hand, that
I might understand you
Won't you please
Oh won't you"

Give Me Love by George Harrison

I sometimes wish that I could flit in and out of people's lives unquestioned. That I was able to be there for a moment, make an impact, and then float away secretly lonely. This seems impossible though, as the more that I make myself emotionally available, the more people realize how few people are willing to do this. This realization is followed usually by an immense request. That's okay, that's why I'm here. But how great would it be to be KNOWN for being absent all the time except when you need it most? Would people demand less, but expect more? I'd love that, I think.

"I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping
Still my guitar gently weeps
I don't know why nobody told you how to unfold your love
I don't know how someone controlled you
They bought and sold you.

I look at the world and I notice it's turning
While my guitar gently weeps
With every mistake we must surely be learning
Still my guitar gently weeps
I don't know how you were diverted
You were perverted too
I don't know how you were inverted
No one alerted you.

I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps
Look at you all . . .
Still my guitar gently weeps."

While My Guitar Gently Weeps by George Harrison

I rarely get overwhelmed, but sometimes I feel like giving up. It seems so silly to me that nothing bad happens to ME, but instead to all of the people in my life. Is this an indication that the universe really does revolve around me? I had a decent upbringing, never really wanting much more than I got. I wasn't abused or lied to. I didn't make any major mistakes, and I wasn't the victim of someone else's. I haven't wasted love, and I realize how big that is. So why don't I have cancer? Why aren't I addicted? Why haven't I lost the love of my life? What's the deal? Is this all build up until the major event that will truly destroy me? When it gets to be too much, I like to think that I have a strategy, but it mostly involves trying not to cry, even if I'm sitting alone.

"Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby

Golden slumbers fill your eyes
Smiles awake you when you rise
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby

Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby"

Golden Slumbers by The Beatles

I really like when sitcoms have dramatic episodes. For instance, I love the episodes of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air when Will's dad shows up and gets back into Will's heart, only to break it again at the end. In all honesty, and at the risk of sounding like a geek, this was the episode that proved Will Smith's acting ability. At the end, he breaks down, and everytime I watch it, I still secretly cry. The only thing that has changed since the first time that I saw it is that if I'm alone I'm not ashamed to cry. The series finale of Roseanne is also excellent. In the last season or so, the show gets really weird. They win the lottery, Roseanne/Jackie's mom comes out as a lesbian, Dan has a heart attack, Jackie starts dating the Prince of Moldavia, Dan cheats on Roseanne, Darlene and David's baby is delivered premature and is supposed to die but lives. So anyways, it sounded really like the show had jumped the shark, but the last episode reveals that the season was a creation of the character of Roseanne, who took up writing as a coping strategy after Dan's heart attack, which he actually died from. The rest of the season is basically her way of running away or fantasizing, which is why so much great stuff happened. What really happened is: Jackie is a lesbian, her mother is not, Dan died from his heart attack, Darlene's baby (with Mark, not David) was delivered premature and somehow survived, Becky had gotten together with David, and Roseanne had begun writing. Anyways, in the series finale, when she exposes all of this, she comes to the point of telling about Dan dying and she almost starts crying, and I almost do as well. There was also an earlier episode I think where Dan's dad dies or something, and Dan cries, and it's pretty hard for me to watch as well. Now that I think about it, there was another episode of Fresh Prince that makes me cry, but I can't remember what it was. There was an episode of Scrubs that did as well, but I can't quite remember it well enough at this point to talk about it. Maybe I'll make a post of the things that have made me cry in my life. I can probably remember just about all of them. Here's a teaser: Fresh Prince, Roseanne, Julee, Paul, Magnolia, Armageddon, About Schmidt, Castaway, and some other stuff as well.

"Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup,
They slither wildly as they slip away across the universe
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my open mind,
Possessing and caressing me.
Jai guru deva, om,
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes,
They call me on and on across the universe,
Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box
They tumble blindly as they make their way
Across the universe
Jai guru deva, om,
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Sounds of laughter shades of life are ringing
Through my opened ears inciting and inviting me
Limitless undying Love which shines around me like a
million suns, It calls me on and on
Across the universe
Jai guru deva, om,
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva
Jai guru deva"

Across the Universe by The Beatles

Leave Them, We Gotta Go

So in my efforts to be there for people, I sometimes fail. I do this mental triage thing that basically says, "Okay, so who needs the most right at this moment? Who needs the second most? Ok, go." Should the triage instead be "Who matters the most to you at this moment"? It's hard, I guess. It's hard to look at three people, decide that you only have time for two, and just hope the other one understands. Combine this with my abstract concept of time (you'll notice, if you speak to me on the phone, how rarely I can actually say what day something happened on). I find that a week passes by before I realize even a day is gone. I hope that my friends grasp this about me, and that they will grant me their patience.

I hadn't spoken to Erin for a while (relatively), and I thought that she was mad at me, because every time we DID talk, she said very little:

Me: "So how was your day?"
Erin: "Fine."
Me: "...What did you do?"
Erin: "Work."
Me: "Anything happen at work?"
Erin: "No, just work stuff."
Me: "NOTHING happened today?" (this is the point at which my sensibility demands you to recognize at least ONE positive aspect of the day, so learn to identify this question)
Erin: "NO, just work. What do you want me to say?"
Me: "I don't know, SOMETHING"
Erin: "Ok, fine, I woke up, felt like shit, drove to work, got bitched at by my boss, did everyone's work like I always do, then I left work and now I'm talking to you."
Me: "Sounds like fun"
Erin: "Yeah, it was a blast"
Me: "..."
Erin:
Me: "..."
Erin:
Me: "You alright?"
Erin: "..."
Me: "Hello??? Are you alright?"
Erin: "What? Yeah! I'm fine!"
Me: "..."
Erin: "..."

So then I was supposed to go to this Christmas Party with her, but she told me that day that I wasn't going, and that she wasn't mad at me, and that she felt like shit. I felt bad, because I knew what she was doing (thinking that she was doing me a favor by not making me go, even though I actually did want to go), and I knew that there was no way around it. I intended to call her the next day, but some shit went down with Heather, and frankly, I forgot about it. And now it's Wednesday, and I was going to call her before I did anything with Duffy, but she called me first and was pissed off that I hadn't called her. Then she either hang up on me or her phone died (her phone always dies) after I told her about the week.

I wonder if it's better to spread it out or concentrate. It's not quite the 99 vs 1 conundrum that I thought it was (100 sheep, 1 runs away, shepherd leaves the 99 to find the 1, etc etc). I'm okay with that problem, but I find this is distinctly different. This is more like I have 100 sheep on a mountain rim and 3 of them run away. Two of them run straight at a cliff that's still about a mile away, and the other one starts walking down a path into the dark valley below us. Now, do I stop the one that is easiest to stop and then hope that I still have enough time to catch up to the other two? Or do I take off after the other two knowing that it'll be hard, but ultimately possible, to eventually get the third? The choice seems obvious, but the obvious answer is not always the right one.

"But I can't do this all on my own
No, I know I'm no Superman
I'm no Superman"

Superman by Lazlo Bane

Plan for the Night

Ashlee's on her way over right now. We are going to go eat sushi. It's been a while since I've had sushi, actually. I mean, not like years or months, even. Weeks. But I think that considering that I only started eating sushi about 6 weeks ago, going a few weeks without it is more or less momentous. It didn't change my life. I sort of expected it to. I enjoy it, but it's all tofurkey to me. I know that there is something I'm missing. There has to be. Sushi isn't just cucumber, avacado, carrot, asaparagus, rice, and seaweed. Great brutes with their wasabi and soy sauce. Teriyaki for amerikans, even. I think that there is some sweet fish somewhere. White flesh with no bones. I have a collection of fish bones that I'm looking to get rid of.

Erin

Where to begin?

First love of life, most likely. Advent of love, in fact. 2nd grade introduction to wonder and appreciation. I remember new emotions, like jealousy and desire. I hated Andy because I thought he had her. Turns out he didn't, though I still think that he could have. I turned to art for the first time ever. I drew the thing that I couldn't imagine and that I would have hated to have known (Andy and Erin having sex, though they both had penises, and one of them was floating above the other. It didn't really make sense, but it was the thought that mattered; and it got me in trouble, just like a grown up artist). It occurs to me that this really WAS the first time I had done this thing, and that it is something that I now do often. I find catharsis in facing fear or hatred or ugly evil, even if I have to create it first. That is, I might have to draw or paint or write this thing that I'm afraid of before I really realize that I'm actually afraid of it. So Erin may have introduced me to art as well. She has been my apparent host here. The person who announces my arrival. I didn't know that until just now, which is another example of her influence.

In 2nd grade I went to Las Vegas with my family. I think that I've told this story before. We were on a people mover or a conveyor belt or just walking next to a long picture window that opened up onto a man made lake with a volcano in it. This must have been at the Mirage where they have a volcano show with fire on the water. At some point I was able apparently to throw a coin in. The coin contained all of my love, and everything that I knew of prayer. I sincerely begged the volcano god to put me and Erin in the same class every year from then all the way through college, and then I secretly (even more secretly than this silent wish already) wished that we'd get married.

I still love her, and I'm sure that I'd do anything she asked me to do. She has experienced shit, and her life is so empty, that it almost makes me angry. Paul died, and killed a large portion of her. The bags under her eyes are my monument to him, and they will seemingly never let me forget him or his impact on her. If I were to want her to love me, I am not sure that I'd ever be convinced that I had 100% of her. She belongs to him still, and I do not know how to help her let go; I'm not sure if she's ready to yet.

It was always understood (by her and I) that she and Paul would end up together after he cleaned up.

Erin became the watermark for beauty, and my standard. She had a lean physique, like a drawing in my mind. She had jutting hips and long sinews of limbs that complimented her features and her hair, which appeared to be of a greenish tint. I know now that it was not green, but I seem to always see the hair of girls that I like as colors that it is not. That is extremely difficult to explain, but basically when I think of Erin, I picture her from eighth grade in front of a classroom that never existed, and her hair is light brown, but my brain looks at it and says "Green." I mean, it knows that it is light brown, but my brain SAYS "green." It's weird. Same thing happens when I picture Julee, only sometimes it's green and sometimes it's auburn.

On to 3rd grade, I don't remember Erin here, because Ms. Loyola was so hot that my memory was wiped clean. Okay, now 4th grade. Erin got me in trouble once, and I got detention. During recess she sat with me on the bench, which actually got her in trouble. I don't even think we spoke during that time we shared on the wooden bench. Okay, now on to 5th grade.

In 5th grade, I was sort of born. I decided that, for reals, I liked girls, and that was okay. At some point, I dated Laura. Maybe more about that later, I'm not sure yet. Also though, this is when Erin became the most sought after girl in our class. Every guy sort of simultaneously decided that Erin had it, and that we all wanted it. That sounds gross, but that's how it was; we didn't even know what it was, frankly. We just all sort of realized that she was hot and cool, and that we'd be hotter and cooler for being closer to her.

At some point, I wrote a note to Erin. It was neon green on one side, and white on the other. On the white side, I drew a skull that I largely lifted from a shirt I saw at Miller's Outpost, and I wrote "ERIN" in crappy Olde English lettering. I wrote something like, "Will you go out with me?" and then, "Yes/No Why/Why not?" and THEN "PS I really like you alot" (and the whole PS part was circled). I'm mostly excited that I asked "Why?" as in, "Yes? You WILL go out me? WHY?! What the hell's wrong with you?" Oh, and I wrote my name on the bottom, too. So yeah, I was a pretty smooth operator. I gave this note to Daniel to give to Erin (side note: Daniel was Erin's first kiss), which he did. Erin claims NOW that she wrote a note back that said "Yes," but I certainly didn't receive it. Her postulation is that Daniel didn't give me the note because of his jealousy (Daniel also liked Erin). I don't know, though, that's pretty convenient. So in the end, we never went out. Her loss. No, that's not true. My loss.

In sixth grade, I was completely smitten and in love with her. I called her all the time; enough even to be banned from calling by her mother. She dated Adam, one of my two best friends at the time, which actually really made me angry, but I didn't let anyone know. This was the height of my frustration.

In seventh and eighth grade I became more friendly with Elizabeth, and less with Erin. Those two did not like each other very much. I still secretly loved Erin, and wrote notes to her and stuff, but I was not as close to her as I used to be. Had she asked, I'm sure that I would have dropped everyone else for her.

High school was black days. We spoke rarely. She went to the all girl school across town. We grew apart. We came back together senior year, when we both worked at the rectory at St. Francis Xavier. We didn't like completely "rekindle," because she was with George, and I was with Julee, and we didn't always work together, but we became friends again.

We've sort of stayed friendly since then, and have recently (the past year or so, especially since Julee and I broke up) become very close. Inextricably close; perhaps symbiotically, at least on my end. My well-being these days involves her, even though we don't talk EVERY day anymore. I still love her as much as I did in 2nd grade, and in the same confusing way. I am perpetually secretly in love with her, though I am willing to hide that away for her benefit. It may be better for her that I am only her friend. I am okay with that, if that is what is truly best for her. I have only her best interest in mind.

to be continued...