last third of the polaroid

You know me. I make a plan, and I sink into it. I was told yesterday by a friend that he envies my focus, and perhaps it's true; I perceive myself as scatterbrained but maybe it's not so much so as I tend to think. The books scattered across multiple rooms would certainly belie that opinion.Life's been odd lately.

I've been trying to put it into words and have thrown every attempt away; the entry I quickly entitled 'braille night' has been rewritten at least seven times, with every attempt causing me more frustration and leaving me nothing but silence here.

Writer's block, I suppose.
Privacy, perhaps.

In the time I've been struggling to make that entry come to pass, my fingernails have grown out from clipped-short to long again. I've become a fan of Michael Bublé's music. I've dug in the flowerbeds and learned to make baked ziti and contemplated [repeatedly] my plans for my next trip to Atlanta.

* * * * *

What's had me flummoxed? A good thing. A friendship, singular, despite the fact that three people are involved. The evil triumverate of Asai, Patrick, and Amy is rapidly growing into Three Stooges territory; the photos bear this out. It's been bewildering to me. My personality, coupled with the way I live my life, mean that friendships are gradual, incremental things. People appear in my life. I show interest. In time, the Polaroid develops from blank white to pastel wash to vivid color.

Most of the time, this takes years. This took just a few months. I've enjoyed it, but it's left me unsettled. I think I still believe, deep down, that a friendship quickly obtained will vanish just as quickly.

I'm still not that good at letting people past my public persona. I've spent quite some time this morning thinking about it, and I've realized that in the past few years, this website has changed; what was once a much more internal monologue has become part of most of my friends' perception of me. I've lapsed back from writing here to writing emails again.

But, still—there they are, over there, two-thirds of personal introspection over Taco Bell takeout; three pints of Ben & Jerry's while sprawled out on comforters, alternately watching British television or having conversations that are far too private to whisper into random ears.

But, still—here I am, the last third of the friendship; the one whose appearance in Atlanta provokes late-night planning.

The Stooges shall make an appearance at the John Digweed show in Atlanta in two weeks' time.

Here's hoping we'll remember to stash ice cream in the freezer for when we're back.

* * * * *

In the meantime, planning continues. I've begun training for our Memorial Day weekend hike. I recognize that nothing fully prepares you for hiking and backpacking except getting out there and just doing it, but in the meantime I can get my cardio fitness back up to snuff and strengthen as many muscles as possible.

I fear being the hold-up; the newbie whose lack of skill or conditioning is what holds the group back. You'd be amazed at how much weightlifting that little fear can inspire.

I have two months, and a swath of books from the library. I'll figure out the rest.