this is a relief because otherwise i would have spent it alone, a lonely tuesday, my 30th birthday, and i would have no doubt spent it drinking and thinking too much about things that don't particularly matter in the Great Scheme of Things.

this woman is kind of crazy, but in a totally endearing way. and she was so excited when i asked her if she might want to do something with me, it's like more than her whole face lit up, it was like her whole body exploded with excitement. so that's nice, right?

i like her and i'm glad to have plans that involve more than sleeping til 3 and maybe watching dvds. so go me.

i wonder sometimes if i am the kind of person who could ever, you know, couple with someone else. i have gotten so used to being alone all the time, especially for hours and hours in the middle of the night. i have gotten so used to being a solitary unit, an unconnected thing, a self-contained thing.

the closest connection i have right now in my life is to stuart, and while it's not an unusual thing for pet owners to feel attached to their animals, i think to say that stuart and i are close is to wildly exaggerate our relationship. the last couple months in this apartment is the first time he really showed any interest in being pet for more than 13 second intervals every other day or so.

it was very much the kind of relationship where you are roommates with someone whom you kind of have a conversation with while passing each other on wednesdays and saturdays.

not very close, but familiar and theoretically affectionate.

i think this makes me sound like a failure in some sense.

i could not. even connect. with my cat.

that being said, i sure am glad he's around. i think if i lived alone here, i might go mad.

it's nice to have another presence, even if it can't talk to you and you don't get the feeling that it matters much one way or the other if you're around.

it's ok, though. i remind myself i have connections, even if they are far away, kept together through phone lines and satellites and ones and zeros. and soon it will be more than that.

the running theme in my life for the last couple of years has been, "soon, it will be more than that."

soon it will be more than that.

and even if this has continually proved to be so, it still seems like i am lost in outer space many times.

i am bad at being around lots of people, i am working on that.

i am bad at letting people in, i am working on that.

i am bad at taking advantage of things while they are within my grasp, i am working on that.

and i am getting better, i am getting better, i am getting better.

but that heavy closed up feeling has taken residence in my chest again. and climbing my way up from deep within the well is getting less and less easy these days.

and i stopped tending to the tulips, just to see their petals fall.

and i forget sometimes to take the trash down, and now it's piling up in small bags around my apartment.

and i am getting my skewed cracked glasses vision back, where i am unable to see the right things or recognize faces easily.

and my broken arms feel like they've come back, where i want desperately to reach out to something but am unable to do so due to the tightness of bandages wrapped up with very little give.

and the covered in gauze feeling across my mouth is getting harder and harder to chew through.

but i make myself try, i make myself try, i make myself try.

tonight i have been thinking a lot about my brother and his life, so much movement, so much life, so many people to speak to, and so many avenues that he uses to push himself through, this great force--confused, elegant, beautiful and kind.

and the fact that he spends time down in the well but still manages to climb out to be part of this big colorful life.

and i feel relieved that he, at least, understands me, and my time in the well. and that we can compare the scars on our knees and fingertips and share the stories that come from them and those times make me feel more whole.

so tonight i put together some music for him, a small ridiculous way for me to try to reach through despite the bandages and broken arms, the cracked skewed vision, the quiet gauze filled mouth.

and to maybe pretend for a moment that the well is big enough for two.