20

It’s really an odd feeling being somewhere you haven’t been for over 20 years. The sensation you get as you try to place yourself and what you were doing all those years ago in that very spot feels kind of like trying to put together a puzzle with only a few pieces that actually fit. You have one or two memories that stand out for no real particular reason, then this random assortment of hunches that seem to just come out of nowhere as you play this game of place association with yourself. Everything is on the tip of your tongue, but nothing, save for those odd standouts in the lineup, can form itself as a certainty. It all just “feels”… Remembering it was hot one day as you see one place, and not knowing anything else about then, then walking twenty feet in another direction and knowing a separate collection of memories about another day to all be as correct as they can be from twenty some odd years away.

I have this near assurance that I don’t mean a lot or occur to many people I know. I say I know them because I don’t feel that I’m someone who’s firmly entrenched in any of their lives. I don’t suppose it’s a complaint from somebody who pursues relatively solitary interests, but I tend to have the notion reaffirmed quite regularly.

I spend an awful lot of time on Friday and Saturday nights waiting to hear back from people, and these same people wonder why I’m such a loner. It’s not exactly self imposed.

Ever expendable

Be illin’