Dear Jack,
(I've decided that all these blogs are going to be addressed to you specifically, whether they are actually for you, or not. Think something like The Screwtape Letters. Yes, as we are contemporaries, I thought I'd give your style a shot.)
It's turned cold here. We 've been moderately iced in for two days now. It's odd to think that when you look at the weather radar map, all of the white that stands for snow and the pink that represents ice has conglomerated in one spot, right here, deep in the heart of Texas (clapclapclapclap). Normally I love it when things like this happen, but sitting here, looking deep into a roaring fire just isn't the same when your boss is pacing around the living room, deeply concerned for the whereabouts of his partner.
It always amazes me the depths of emotion that one experiences when the safety of a loved one is on the line. The tension here is running deep. I wish he would stop pacing, but I can't deny him the one ounce of control that he has over the situation. He can't control the ice, he can't control his partner, but when it all comes down to it, he can control his reaction.
Apparently, his reaction is to pace. Alot.
What also amazes me is the fine line between worry and anger. Deep anxiety that easily changes to fear, frustration, and things you say that you didn't mean to at the time. Sometimes I think Thumper's Mom hit the nail on the head. "If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say nothing at all."
My kitten is also cold. I know this because she has curled up in my lap and buried her precious little nose into my leg. She's never quiet, or still, but today she is both. Wonders never cease.
This is so funny. I don't know what I'm writing about, Jack. All I know is that I have Peterson's voice in my ear saying "Just write. Who gives a crap? Something will come out of nothing, but you just have to keep on writing..." I wonder if he listens to his own mantras. I wonder how many freshmen he has corrupted with his "interesting" points of view. I wish I were back there somehow, talking to him. Me and you against the rest of the class. We were right more than we were wrong.
I miss that.
I don't wish that I could go back to college though, honestly. What I wish for is the companionship that college brought. People my age were never far away, whereas now people my age seem a lifetime away. I guess that's what I get for moving to Salado (aka, God's Waiting Room...). Being in New York again a week ago has made me realize again just how much I want to be there. Maybe I should reconsider my not wanting a Masters... I could go to NYU.
Whatever I decide, one thing is for sure. 2007 is going to be an interesting year. I like years that end in 7's. The last one changed my life, for the better. I hope it happens again. Somehow.
Always,
John
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Dear John,
I am flattered you are writing to me. I will choose to believe all future blog posts are to me whether they are or not. Maybe they are simply your college English major persona writing to my college English major persona. I am not quite sure. Somehow I feel we have taken a page out of their book. In a weird, twisted, modern way we have found our writer's guild. Our small, out-of-the-way, smoke filled pub. For this I am grateful. Of course, the wistful nostalgia believes one day there will be many more like us- friends who connect not through simple conversation but through writing. Writing is strange because it is more personal. Words will appear on a screen that would not be said through casual conversation. True writing is honest, thoughtful, and reflective. True writing seems like a little piece of one's soul. So, in the spirit of Peterson, we write.
I love your depiction of calm and craziness. The uncertainty of an icy winter storm in Texas contrasted by the warmth of a crackling fire, the nervous energy of your boss pacing and your cat contently snuggled in your lap.
It reminds me of a moment from Sunday evening. Josh and I spent some time in the mountain over the weekend. It snowed the day before we arrived so everything was white and beautiful at the lodge - a picture reminiscent of the closing scene from White Christmas. You know how much I like cold weather, well that has not changed in the time since you have seen me. Snow, no matter how beautiful, refuses to be enjoyed close up because the cold finds its way through the layers of clothes and long underwear and settles somewhere in my bones. I cannot remember if cold causes expansion or contractions (maybe I should have played more attention in Science class) nonetheless, the process is extremely painful. So, the favoured option in this weather is to sit near the warmth of the fire.
I do not know if fireplaces are proven tranquil by science or if this is simply a conscious of the people...but you will find me in firm agreement. We were sitting on an overstuffed leather sofa talking and watching the fire. Somewhere in the peace, I drifted into a peaceful sleep. It was a sleep of necessity, although I was a little overtired, it was a sleep of sheer peace. The peace that slowly takes over and gently overwhelms.
I miss you. I am glad for our connection through the metaphoric pen.
~Jack
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