As a result of an as-yet-unaccounted-for passage of time, today was First Friday (capitalized because it's quite the big occasion at our school), and we had sort of thought it would be fun to do something after the manifold festivities. So I made fun of SLA for a while (this involved chewing on bits of their forms), talked to people, had some kind of pizza and some kind of soda, and eventually got in Elena's car because, so it was said, we were Going Somewhere. Somewhere, it was said, after the application of instruments of torture, consisted of a movie at Mission Valley Cinema. Elena's sister would've been stuck at Halifax if we'd left her, so we had to take her along. There were very few parties in favor of this idea, but since Elena's parents were included in this small gathering, its execution tended toward mandatory.
Anyway, it was a cool trip there - Elena's route took us through some really strikingly beautiful parts of Raleigh, places the residential requirements of which include A) having gotten there when it was a bit cheaper, or B) wads of cash, big ones. Some good pop-punk, some snappy accelerations, and the way girls' hair blows in the wind composed the kind of ride where you can just feel stress evaporating.
This turned out to be even better than I thought at the time, because things started getting troublesome around then. First, Mission Valley was only showing five movies, and they were all crap; so we went over to Blue Ridge. There more than five movies were being shown, but most of those were crap too, and the ones that weren't were being shown at extraordinarily inconvenient times. For us, that is.
Thus it came to pass that the eyes of those gathered there were opened, and the people cried out in anger and wept bitter tears at their plight; for their options had been dashed to pieces, as waves dash the fragile driftwood against the cliff; and their plans had come to naught. But the gods do not destroy without purpose, and it was explained to the people that Fate frowns upon those who do not make pilgrimages to triangle.citysearch.com and behold the prophecies graven there.
In our case, Fate didn't so much frown as snarl at us, and ranting and stern words were exchanged. We eventually decided that a movie was more or less out for the day, and went to a coffee shop to hang out, and later, a restaurant. These turned out to be pretty good choices, and people chilled, calmed down, began to have a good time. In the restaurant, though, I began to feel worn a bit thin when Sam and Trevor began hurling cups of ice water at each other, and eventually went outside and sat at a table there to get away from the fluorescents and what struck as idiocy at the time. I felt more tired than cranky just then.
Diana came out after a couple minutes, asked me if I was okay. I said yes, like almost anyone would unless feeling totally awful, which I wasn't. I guess I had been a little cranky, though, because after we talked for a while I realized I was feeling better, leading to the obvious conclusion that I'd been feeling worse beforehand. So we talked for a really long time; she did a lot of the talking, naturally, but I like to listen and she likes to talk and that works pretty well.
Elena came out towards and joined the conversation, and we actually talked until Hannah's dad got there, at which point it was time to go. Trevor and I both hitched a ride home, and a brief conversation on ABC stores, more specifically their absence in Kentucky, led me to make some comment on moonshining in Kentucky. This in turn led to some stories on Mr. Hoersting's part, about how he'd worked for a liquor store and delivered booze from the Kentucky side of Cincinnati to the Ohio side. Great stuff (the stories, I mean).
On a less chronical and more introspective tack, I've begun thinking lately that I should probably be a bit less possessive. It's a tough reality for a single guy (with no definite prospects) to realize, not only that one cannot have every pretty girl who passes through his gaze, but also that unless one is a very specific variety of rapscallion, one female is the limit. With such a reality in mind, I should probably try to get used to the idea that all the girls I know who are currently single will someday have boyfriends, and that most, if not all, of those boyfriends will not be me. Not too disheartening a concept in most cases, but there's a particular instance in which that reality is nothing less than heartbreaking. True love? Close enough to make me punch walls in anticipation of future regret. At times, the only thing holding me back is my conviction that love has a certain quantum quality: you don't know if it's real or not until you actually observe it in action; and I'm not sure if I want to know the answer.
posted on Friday, August 15, 2003
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