Some thing.

My roommate talked to a friend and me last night about her boyfriend saying that all the people he's close to are broken. And I responded. We're all broken.

As soon as you get close enough to a person, you realize they have a story and that they're coming from a place you've never been. We live our own lives, and not others'. I think we forget that a lot.

Today, I was a bit sad, and I can't really say why, not because I'm unable to share, but because I just don't know why. I had a good day: spent time with good friends, ate good food, got work done, smiled. But I don't feel joyful.

I wonder if something happened to me on this February day last year when I thought I was in love, or years before that when I knew I wasn't, or didn't want to be, or something. Maybe there's a sadness that was just supposed to hit me today regardless of where or what my life is.

There's something. There's something about a lack of joy that makes me feel like failing--not that I am, but that I want to. It's like a repressed desire for escape, a way to go back to bed and sleep through my last semester and a pair of jobs and the anxiety of waiting on news.

There certainly is something. And it's something I can't name. I don't want to.

Maybe I'm just homesick. I just tried to see my house on Google maps. No street view. But I can see the driveway from the corner and it feels like the night walks I used to take with my dog to meet a neighbor boy on highschool Fridays. Our German Shepherds would run circles around us with their leather leashes and we'd talk about how cold we weren't.

Tangents. Intersecting lines. Geometry, criticism, astrophysics. I'm everywhere today.

I talked to my mom today, too, about being sad, frustrated, fed up. I read her Psalm 62, the theme of the last month of my life. He alone. There's some sense of security or something in that, and it's beautiful. (Clearly I'm feeling pretty articulate and artistic right now. Could I say

"something" any more? Where was I--security, right.)

So you build your life on faith, things that don't crumble, but they certainly can be shaken.

And if not faith, you find other things: money, relationships, status. And those things satisfy you for time enough, but then you're failed.

There are people in my life doing these things. And I love them. But to those of you who know I'm talking about, I think maybe I'm sad today because you're sad. Money and status aren't sustaining you.

He alone.

I'm preaching. I'll stop for now. Keep reading.

The piece I had started last week was this:

The trouble is that I start these posts without thinking about where they'll end.

I start with thinking about what I want... adventure, change, commitment, honesty, pursuit, nuance, novels...

I could write and write on all of them, but there's this insecurity or fear of something, perhaps thoughts of anonymity: who are you in the moment, this one, as you read these words? You're the invisible-implied-absolute-narratee-actual-ideal reader: you're the impossible audience.

And I'm home on a Saturday night musing about the ways I've been mistreated and what I'd do on an island with wild things. I've got Coldplay and Counting Crows and a break with some Long Island elsewhere.

I want to write something that makes you feel the way I do when the radio pulls me in to some out of body adventure. I want you to know that truth can come from keystrokes inspired by the right brand of heaven.

Last week I had a conversation like this:

I said to a classmate: "So you're saying that blogging is a desperate plea for attention?"

To which he responded: "Yep..."

And I pondered, then replied, with confidence: "I guess I'm desperate then. Desperately pursuing something I haven't the slightest idea of how to achieve. I'm desperate and pathetic and blogging, and entirely happy with it." All of it.

It had been a good day, a good week. Maybe I was meant to be joyful, another forgotten anniversary of some moment that brought a joy that couldn't be blemished--that day. That beautiful day.

I don't know where I'm going. I guess the point is this: Some days are pretty good. And some, no matter how nice, really just aren't.

And that's ok. I hope you had a good day. I hope tomorrow is good. I hope the goodness settles over you, stays with you, heals you, something. Some thing. Or some one: He alone, all over again.

Myself, my words, my rambles: we thank you for reading, as always.

S.D.G.