March 9, 2004 - 2:35 a.m.
I've been trying for quite some time to write something in this journal that I feel matters. I've been trying for (flips to last entry) about six weeks now. Nothing's come to mind. There have been few profound thoughts that I've been willing to share, and the ones that aren't personal are professional and, to some degree, confidential. It stinks for me, because I can't write them down, and it stinks for you, because you can't read about them. So I'm sorry.
I guess that whole paragraph is my fancy way of saying that this entry is just going to be your run-of-the-mill journal entry. No lesson, no neatly tied package of words with a little oomph at the end for emphasis. No deep thoughts or remarkable moments (not that there was much of that in the past). I think that will also mean I won't be reaching to find something deep in my daily experiences which, for the time being, can be a good thing.
I'm 22 now. Twenty-two years old. I share a birthday with Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr., Mickey Dolenz of the Monkees, and Gene Fowler, an American writer who once said "Writing is easy. All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead." I think he was on to something.
Being 22 is cool. I'm old enough to be taken seriously but young enough to have fun without being considered crazy. I'm palendromic. When I say I'm 22, people no longer think the glass of beer I'm holding is "special," or punch me in the arm and say, "Oh, a drinking man, now," which always forced me to think, "No, jerk, I'm not a drinking man, despite my occassional desire for a casual beer. I'll pass out after the third one of these, so don't look at me like I'm a booze hound."
That, then, forces me to realize how overly defensive I can get sometimes.
Tonight was fun. Had dinner with the parents at Fratello's and they sprang for a new cell phone (they're too nice to me), then people came over, talked, ate tortilla chips. We attempted to play Trivial Pursuit, but never finished the game because the house filled up too quickly. It's a good problem to have, if you ask me.
Nick and Megan Mendenhall brought over their baby, Aiden Quint Mendenhall. (By the way, I also share a birthday with Aidan Quinn, the actor.) He's just more than three months old now (Mendenhall, not Quinn), and gurgling that happy gurgle; the one that makes you wonder if it's genuine glee or just a little bit of gas.
It's been a good night.
Tomorrow morning, in about three hours actually, I leave for the airport and eventually Arizona. It's been in the 90s there this week, and is expected to be in the high 80s while I'm there, which is just fine with me, thank you very much. It snowed today in Michigan. Snowed. (Sigh.) I know. I've decided to stay up all night, since people just left about 30 minutes ago and I have yet to pack. I can sleep on the plane; it's all good.
Speaking of all good, that's how life is right now. All good. I'm happy with my job, glad to have my friends around me when I want/need them to be there, and looking forward to a nice escape to the American desert. Just in case you were wondering.
I'm going to leave this now, and IM some people who just popped up on my screen. Thanks for making it this far in this little experiment in journal writing. I hope it didn't make your eyes glaze over.
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