Sunday night Wayne and I were talkin' about food. AGAIN.
We discuss our daily meals at length-- Once, there was even a comprehensive analysis of the Wendy's Dollar Menu via text message. Sweet Glory!
"Wayne, if we last a long time-- we're both gonna get HUUUGE," I said.
And it's true. If you combine our unadulterated love of eating-- monstrous things will ensue. And by monstrous I mean
(Kinda Gross, but I think we're pretty cool.)
Today I pretended to save an unconscious 18 year old girl. Her injured spine was straight between my forearms and I kicked at a 45 degree angle to the surface. Her name is Courtney and she drives her parents' Astro Van. When it was all over, she told me about this boy who was in love with her. Then, she saved me and my spine. But just before in the clear blue, the 12 silent feet between us and the oxygen was surreal. I think it was the sense of urgency, the incorruptible trust, the swishing of silent kick. kick. kick. back to life.
Also surreal. I really have nothing to say about finals, only that there is something here with me this week. Or maybe, it is the absence of something. Summer has paused on our edges, not yet present but felt by those who wait, who need. Felt by those who know what it means. Who are starved for human connection and for a search of self-- which somehow, unintentionally, has been put on pause.
There is so much compassion in me. But blocked. Blocked by my distracted self-importance. If I could break down all that opposes it-- the anger and judgment, the pride and idleness-- I KNOW... that only clear purpose would remain. Only clarified direction.