we can't all, and some of us don't, and that's all there is to it
I've been in non-sense world the last couple of days, trying to get this page situated in a manner that didn't piss me off, so I suppose my mind has not been otherly-occupied.
I sent a letter to Carrie Beth yesterday. We lived together for all four years of college, and now she's married and living in Germany.
The last time I saw her was 9/11.
She's such a tough-guy - we encouraged that in each other - that I know she's holding it all together really well with her husband, brother, and brother-in-law all in the military right now (and living on a base). I just wanted to send her a card letting her know I'd let her break down if she were with me, and I'd never tell anyone.
The first time we were separated - that first summer - she pulled me into the bathroom to hug me so when she drove away her family didn't see a hug, or a wave, or hear a goodbye.
She would never apologize, outright, she would just help me wash the dishes and give me a smile and say something like, "I'm glad that's over with."
She pent her feelings up so well that when they finally were given passage she would weep until she vomited.
But the night before she left. Before she moved out of my house. Our house. Our home. She cried with me. People stood around and watched and she held my face in her hands and comforted me.
See, she was leaving me to get married. Leaving me alone. Leaving me with Emily, anyway, who I do love, though she hurts me.
We keep up exceptionally well considering the ocean between us. I just wish I could hold her face in my hands and comfort her.
Next Monday is the Braves' Season Opener, against the Expos, in Atlanta.
I know it's not popular to enjoy baseball, but I've always had the understanding that this infatuation I have with the sport would not be admired by many.
This is not something I have to enjoy in a public way, like some might, by watching games in bars or parties, or discussing them with strangers. In fact, I often find that most people are irritating to watch baseball with because they don't understand it well enough. And I've heard all the reasons for why people DO NOT like watching the sport. Trust me. I get it.
I'd rather read the boxscores in the paper than watch a game with people who don't like baseball. I'm not going to make you try and watch it.
However, nothing is more exhilarating than watching a game with people who really get into it. Like my Aunt Claudine, or Tylere, or my grandad before he stopped watching in '94.
My feelings about baseball are similar to my feelings about God: their unique and personal and I keep them to myself, unless you understand my feelings and think one or both of us could benefit from an exchange of ideas.
So I'm excited about the opener, and even more excited that I'll get to see the Sox live at some point this summer. There's no way I'll live this close to Boston and not see Nomar Garciaparra live. Damn. I love short-stops!
The strange thing about this layout is that I'm not a vinyl collector. I have only the scarce few albums that have been given me, but no aspiring collection. Basically, I move around too much for something so fragile.
The next bend in my road is already in site, you know, and it will last two years at the maximum.
I don't stop, I guess. But you can try and make me.
