4:36 a.m.

is when I wrote this. Thought I'd share. So, accept it for what it is I guess.

* * *

Like a canopy or a pool of sunshine,

Friendship,

When cupid's arrows strike a bit too hard and forget to hit the other person too,

When you trip over one too many of life's hurdles,

There's your canopy, your rays of sunshine

Tight, secure, stable, warm and confident

Woven, twisted ropes, of light and sun and trust

together,

And you

Inside it all

Never alone

Together in

Sunshine and rope

Never alone

Just sunshine and rope

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It's funny how we change.

I like to keep letters and look at old yearbooks and messages written inside them with glittery, splotchy, messy, neat, hand writing. I like to look at photos from dances from freshman year and then skip ahead to sophomore year, and then junior year, just to see the differences. I like to read old diary entries and keep my favorite English papers.

I think I do this because I'm fascinated by how people change. I think I almost want to know how we change, what it is that changes us. It's not a curiosity provoked by disapproval or regret, but by sheer amazement at how life moves so quickly, how time can be stopped by no one. Amazing experiences, pain, bad decisions, friendships, thanksgiving dinners, flushed goldfish, driving lessons, barbie jeeps, flipping pancakes, middle school sleepovers, all can't stop time. In a way, all these moments are time.

If time is experience, and experience is life, does that mean every time someone says "we're wasting time" they mean "we're wasting life"? Does that mean every time I sleep in until 1 or 2 pm on Sundays I'm wasting life, or am I spending life to regain enough energy to not waste life, to do something worthwhile, later?

Though I think that during these 4 months in New York I'm not wasting life, I don't think that during my 16 years and 363 days in Texas I was wasting life either. Perceptively, I suppose I could see how some could think otherwise. ("New York is more exciting!")

But I would disagree for one reason, really:

The friends in Dallas, Addison, Plano, Austin, Houston, Pflugerville, whatever, Texas will still be there, not wasting life, and just as awesome and loving when I return to not waste life there too.

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The One Minute Writer 4

Here's today's prompt:

Fill in the blanks: "I'd like to march right up to ___ and say '____'. "

I'd like to march right up to the first New Yorker I see on the street tomorrow and say "I'm from Texas, let's be friends. I'll teach you about Corny dogs, you teach me about hot dogs. You teach me baseball, I teach you horse back riding. You teach me how to j-walk, I teach you how to walk in cowboy boots. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Everybody wins. There is no downside."

And if the conversation is going well and I'm feeling bold, I'll go in for a hug. Because that's what I do. Handshakes are formal. Waves are awkward. High fives have been replaced with pounds which reminds me of Rock, Paper, Scissors. Hugs are easier. And when you think about it, they're not all that intimate, they're not that odd or uncomfortable. You don't need to stop-drop-and roll to escape the iron clasp of a friendly acquaintance. Hey there, NYC. Let's hug it out.

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