driver

i just want to be cozy, forever, but i have a midterm tomorrow at 8:30a, outside of regular class hours, and damn if i haven't cracked the notes at all. aren't i too old for this? am i too old for this? it's not the number of years on this earth but the number of years of perceived experience.

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i get this heady feeling from reading hundreds of potential sources, research, the book desert solitaire, the slight smell of winter(?) creeping in, my own imagination, 8 hours of sleep, bugs, vacation, the idea that i could be on to something, soul-searching, laughter, an excellent cup of coffee, ripping book reviews out of magazines, postcards, having something original to say, disappearing, other people's neat handwriting.

i think about destroying my iphone, just crushing it, a pile of metal and oozing electronic juices. about never checking email again and making everyone come to me, face-to-face, write a letter, make a real connection.

the problem is almost no one knows how anymore, we've handicapped ourselves into this horrible technological vice, we don't even call people, now. just write some smart text, why try harder.

i want a knock on the door, a hug, a handwritten letter in the mail. small gestures that speak volumes. i find these are not currency anymore though - we have all dispersed far and wide, these things take too much time, too much effort, we're all so busy, we say.

but when you say that - "i'm too busy!" - make a practice of saying the real truth - "it's not a priority right now." you will find yourself able to evaluate life in a different way.

so make time to pen that card, to drop in, to call if you have no other way of doing it. we spend so much time now worried about immaterial, stupid crap. let's just be honest: what matters is other people. but we've devalued that, and that makes me sad.