William, it was Really Nothing

Lately I feel like I've been medaling in the art of immaturity. I miss my collective group of brilliant and melancholy 22/23-year-old friends -- my privy council of people who understand (and laugh at) my constant fumbling. Right now I seem to be mis-stepping without any promise of future clarity. Especially on those occasions when I'm with someone who makes me giddy and we suddenly come upon that silent moment inevitable in any good exchange. It's as though the emotional quotient suddenly catches up and throws cold water over my ongoing need for mental stimulation. How do you reconcile both a sarcastic and a romantic nature? As far as my experience goes (about 10 yards, not far at all), it's anything but a seamless passage from banter to romance.

There are so many excellent kissing moments out there -- like in "Sleep the Clock Around" when the lead singer drones, "If you put down your pen, leave your worries behind, then the moment will come, and the memory will shine" and it just moves into this incredible synthesized instrumentation. That's a bonafide electric moment waiting to happen. 

I can't remember what else I did this week, except fall ill and panic about taxes. I finally recruited Heath to help me, and then we went out to a perfectly lovely meal with Clara and Mike at a local restaurant. I haven't had a real sit-down dinner with a group of friends in ages. Later Vanessa and I met up with Bob and Jeremy for drinks. Despite the bizarre auspices under which these evenings take place, the four of us have a rather enjoyable dynamic. I can't quite put my finger on why (or maybe I'd just rather not), but we play off of each other's absurdities with relative ease. I like each of them so very much for such different reasons -- but sometimes I feel very, very young. And naive. And agitated. But happy. It's weird.