I’ve been hanging out with civil rights attorneys, … public defenders, social workers, environmental activists, and teachers. I draw 3-dimensional pipes that go from this panel to that transformer and that is what I do. I was wondering why I don’t quit my job, sell my car, settle my debt and find something useful to do with my life. And then I wondered when, if ever, I might find something that will hold my attention and my interest for more than a year or two. I always make plans; grand schemes of that picture perfect, one house, two cars, one dog, one love – life. Funny, whenever I imagine such uber-blissfulness, I’m never working.

I had a dream last night. There was this guy who had boasted that he had no use for love, so the gods cursed him with a very strange condition where he moved very, very fast, even when standing still. He moved so fast that you couldn’t see the extent of his motion, he just appeared to have the shakes, when, in fact, he was more like a weeble-wobble on speed… only faster. And he couldn’t stop, or even slow down. All of the sounds around him became a jet wash of air past his ears and before his eyes, a complete blur. Over time his brain compensated and allowed him to focus on various things in order to get himself through his life. He could eat, for example, and he had a job. But he had to concentrate so forcibly on doing the most mundane things, that he missed all of the subtle beauty of a given moment. And when he heard music, especially a love song, it would slow him down just enough so that everyone could see just how bad his condition was, and his sadness reached out from him and tried to grab hold of the pity of those around him, mistaking it for love. No one knew what to do. Even if someone wanted to love him, … you can’t touch a man that moves that fast.

I don’t wanna be that guy.

My roommate woke me from that dream. Quarter to 5. Time to go to the airport. Bacchus lay in a 75 lb. heap next to me, breathing big, patient, breaths and moving slowly to uncurl himself and step down off of the bed… only to resume his former position on the floor. I kissed his head and pulled on a pair of dirty jeans and boots. The ski cap, originally intended to just hide hair, earned added appreciation when I stepped off my front porch into the still-falling snow. I took a big drink of my coffee, which had already dropped a few degrees of cuddly warmth and let D scrape off the car. I could just keep driving, I thought, once I had dropped D off and was alone on two lanes with my coffee. But I’d have to go home anyway and get Bacchus…. $2.09 for gas. I guess I should go to work.