Monday, January 21, 2002

I ended up having to walk approximately 10 miles Friday, which was awful, at least until the rain let up. Don't get me wrong, though, not entirely awful. I rather enjoyed it, in the abstract, although the actual physical implementation left much to be desired. Listened to The Screwtape Letters on the way back from Mt. Pleasant, where I went to get my parents' truck the next day. After I got home friday, I returned my ex's phone call on the machine and we sat and talked the night away. Lots of talk of music, indie kids (a subculture I was never entirely aware of, although it follows there are other people buying the same crap I listen to), and her new b/f, who apparently has been a major on again/off again issue in her life. He lives in Nairobi, mind you, but was down for the holidays. Nairobi. Uh-huh. This is a girl who has serious trouble with long-distance relationships down the hall. (Just kidding, Kat, don't kill me)
Don't get me wrong, I think that living in Nairobi is a fascinating thing to do for a while, although going to school there for physics is not high on my list of Efficient Ways to Accomplish One's Goals. Unless, that is, one's goal is to become interesting, albeit unemployable. Still, I can't fault the guy, I met him a couple of times and he seemed entertaining enough. He had a neat little game made from sheep bones that I later found out is a dice game dating back to about 700 BC Arabia. Not I Ching meets dice.
Anyway, talking to my ex is always a bit odd. Not for the usual reasons, although I'm sure that if I were to plumb the depths there would be some sort of lingering emotional conflict there. That sort of emotion, once given, I can never take back, merely convert, lessen, and/or ignore. Not true of everyone, I don't think, but then most people don't talk to any of their ex's either, so I suppose that speaks volumes right there. Anyway, not for those reasons, but because I am always intimidated by her. Conversationally, I am no match and I know it, although my valiant attempts still ring hollowly in my ears every time we talk. Still, I do have a fair number of interesting things to say, I suppose, although generally nothing of too much import. It comes from theater training, I suppose. Her wealth of it and my lack, that is. Most drama people I've met seem to have a remarkable energy and vitality about them that can't be matched by anyone else. They also tend to be flaky egomaniacs who end up being very petty and shallow once you get past the dazzle, I've noticed. This is not true in her case, or at least if it is she's a damned sight better than anyone I've ever met at hiding it, and somehow I don't think that's the case. There are dangerous traps amid the twists and turns, yes, barbed wire to snare fools and blowhards who wander too far into the labyrinth each of us constructs with our words and souls, but I get the sneaking suspicion that there is a great treasure somewhere at the center - a rarity indeed.
So, during all this I get a drunken, and oddly friendly, call from a friend of mine I haven't talked to in months. She invites me to a concert and in general sets off all those little sensors I years ago gave up on paying any attention to because they lie. Nice midnight darkened-room-thought material for you, I can say that. The next day, waking with a severe hangover, which is odd because I didn't have anything to drink, I go with my father to clean up the shambles my erstwhile roommate has made of my life. (Sorry, Tom...I don't blame you, but you did seriously screw a lot of things up around here, as I'm sure you know. Don't let it weigh on you, though...I have faith you'll be back to owning the light in no time.) We pay off the phone company, the electric people (partially), and take my car to the shop, so as to avoid the Horrible Walking Incident trying to make a comeback. (One blister on my foot is enough, thank you, and I have two.) Then we clean a little bit. This translates to do one load of dishes and go to the bookstore. Then we go back to Mt. Pleasant and pick up Dad's truck. I drive back with two tapes, one of which is a tape I have listened to since time immemorial, the other is The Screwtape Letters. At about letter 13, the tape player eats it. This makesme scream with frustration and rip the tape ribbon out of the player. I put in the 10,000 maniacs album I just found beneath the seat while screaming in rage and frustration. It plays. All is relatively well, although I want to know what happened. I guess it's back to the bookstore.
So, upon arrival I go to bed, because thanks to both my salaried position and the adoption of new computer software at work, I have to come in to work on sunday, for what I can only assume is an unpaid day of work. Yippee. Anyway, to make this incredible weekend last forever on the unprinted page, I started thinking about how my ex's future ex lives in Nairobi, got to thinking about how I've always wanted to travel, got to thinking about how I really have very little keeping me tied down at this point in my life, like for example my sex life, which sent me a postcard from the coast last month, saying "Glad I'm not there with you, see you eventually. Having the time of my life with two other sex drives all inhabiting the body of a televangelist who lives in L.A. right now. Please note the enclosed restraining order barring you from any contact with me for at least the next six months."
Anyway, I started really just pondering the possibilities, and looking at the Peace Corps website. I'll throw the link up tommorrow. I don't know if I am actually considering it, but it seems like an interesting idea, and most of the usual objections that people would have I am somewhat immune to, although there areothers that are aggravated by my personality. The long and short of it? I doubt it would be any time soon, but it's a thought. I always knew I wanted to travel, and I also always knew it really didn't matter where. Hmmm...


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