long voice mails.

I think I live for the days I'm at work, check my phone, see a voice mail, listen to it and have to save it for later because it's so long. Usually these are the type from my friends across the state and usually they are the very best. They start out with a chuckle because my greeting tricks everyone. Every time, too.

Whomever calls usually gives me an update, celebrates what he or she knows about me, prompts me to call back and says the usual, but not empty goodbyes: miss you, love you, all that jazz. Please know that these mean everything to me. After a few months of missing people constantly, I've gotten used to it. That doesn't mean I've forgotten; it just means it's not as aching as it was. So when I hear these messages, my heart just swells and wants to burst, like it typically does about anything involving any of the fantastic hearts I know and love. These used to be just from Todd when he first moved from Indiana to Pittsburgh, but now they're much more frequent from several others, too, since everyone went in complete different geographic locations.

So thanks, pals, for taking the time and blabbering about nothing and everything all at once. I really am grateful for your thoughts, concerns and love. In other words, I'm grateful for you overall. We'll actually catch each other on the other end some day. Until then, I love you and I miss you. And I really, really mean it -- but you already knew that.

whilst whistling some bowie song in my head.

Here we are. Another time passing mechanism. I'm occupied waiting for Kim to not be caught in traffic and get here, while my brother is in his room connecting with the Beatles. Living at home has been strange. It makes me feel terribly immature after being on my own for a few years, but it is oddly comforting -- a complete solace when I permit it to be.

But who needs solace? And from what? Only when things aren't going my way does my perspective shift to negative shades of black. That's when I pretend to hover over my life and look at it like I were a cartographer, mapping appropriate exits and on ramps precisely on my highway of almost 23 years. That's a really lame analogy, but it's sincere.

In that imaginary mapping, I'm reminded of those who I know love me. Then i think of how much of a distant snot I've been. Unintentional, of course, because I really cannot recall the last time I had such an ill motive, but still a distant snot. I tell myself that other people have needs, too, and right now one of them for several is me in this place.

Wow. Somehow I've successfully turned a quest for grace into the teenage angst I managed skipped over years ago!

I guess sometimes I have to step outside myself to remember myself -- why things are relevent and why I'm at where I'm at. It almost has that "not realizing what you have until it's gone" effect -- the feeling that sits with you weeks after breaks ups with a polar opposite-turned-complement. And it works because I'm immediately grounded. And then that fuzzy feeling I call gratitude sets in, and I find myself back on track. In the end, it all seems to come down to joy, gratitude and empathy, each of which contribute significantly to the ultimate: LOVE (in all its various fortitudes).

small joys of my half-sunny, half-cloudy friday

-listening to a mix that kicked off with Alanis Morrissette's "Hand in My Pocket" and remembering how much more I relate to her now than when "Jagged Little Pill" never left my stereo in the '90s. And how refreshing and kick ass that feels.
-cleaning out my glove box only to find a note Emmy wrote me months ago that wished me good luck on my presentation and said she loved me or some kind of friend thing.
-talking to my brother about politics and feeling mature about the matter -- knowing I've cast some pretty blind ballots and how I know now that voting for the lesser of two evils certainly isn't the answer to any of the problems in this so-called free state we live in.
-thinking about when Todd, Emmy, Kim and I went to that protest in D.C. and remembering how many smiles were on our faces. I particularly remembered when we all bombarded that guy with hugs. This reminded me of how much times I, too, have been bombarded with hugs.
-eating a lunch a friend prepared.
-packing for a few days away with my family.
-going on a three-mile jaunt via bicycle and having kittens chase me through Indian Rocks development.
-the cherry popsicle I devoured upon arriving back at my house.

Try listing some small joys sometime. My day isn't even half over yet -- I still haven't even gone to work! Look at how much you have to be gracious for every day. It'll startle you.

Edit: Add to the list the bunch of delicious buttercream cupcakes brought in for me at work because tomorrow's my last day at The Times.

it pays to buy used.

I picked up a copy of Nada Surf's "Karmic" yesterday at Embassy Vinyl. Today I opened it up and there's Sharpie scrawling all over the inside. It's signed by the band. Matthew Caws wrote to the previous owner: "Indeed, pal! Indeed!" Daniel Lorca's writing was illegible, but it had a smiley. And Ira Elliot put a little drum with N.S. below his name.

Yes, they're just people. But I still think this is pretty cool.

Thanks, karma, for being on my side.
No pun intended.

tangible mail.

A year ago, I was naked at 2:30 a.m. and holding hands on a bridge with a guy I cared greatly for. After convincing each other that we would be fine, we jumped into the dark, dark water 15 feet or so below us. Now, I'm getting packages of stuff he's had of mine and failed to return. It's comical because half of it I don't even remember loaning him.

But it's not the only mail I've received as of late. And certainly not the best either.

The letters I've read in the last few days were exceptional. Letters, in general, are great. I think I know why, too -- it's because that person takes a chunk out of his or her time to sit down and actually writes it. Applying postage and sending it also requires effort -- enough where mail can seem like a chore.

I often write a lot of letters that I don't send. I never intend to. Sometimes I'm thinking of something I'd like to talk a particular person about, so I write to him or her as if we were talking. I think one day, I'll bundle them up and just leave them somewhere or actually send them to the respective "owners."

The point is, receiving mail reminds me of how much love is actually circulating in my life and how endlessly thankful I am for it every time I realize it.

the proximity effect.

Last October, I rediscovered Nada Surf. I owned "High/Low" in high school and decided it'd be the album I listened to while trekking across the state on my 22nd birthday because I had to go say a final goodbye to a friend. I enjoyed it so much I stopped at the record store and got other Nada Surf disks for the drive back. That is when I heard the following lines:

"Maybe this weight was a gift ... like I had to see what I could lift."

It resonated quite loudly during the 270 or so mile trip. It hit me so much that at one point I pulled over along the Interstate and just screamed to the cars in what looked like the melodramatic performance of the year to passersby. Months later, I remember the whipping of the November wind on my face as I just LET GO (another one of their album titles) of everything that was breaking my heart at the moment -- Mark dying, Rachael's situation, learning that if I were to keep my heart invested in Josh that I would always care more, my aunt's bad news, the failure of a fall semester and the looming "what comes next" worries.

The weight, right then along I-80 near Lock Haven, made perfect sense. I was simply learning how much I could endure. I started truly seeing setbacks as lessons and obstacles as motivators.

I reminded myself that love is ultimately all I ever want in life, and if I die loving, then I can say I almost don't care about all the inbetweens. The number of phone calls I was receiving that day made it evident I had more than enough of it to sustain me.

So what does this have to do with proximity or Nada Surf now? I listened to "Lucky," the band's latest album tonight. I left work and after a mediocre Bog experience considered just driving out to Western Pa. because my heart was aching. While completely spontaneous, it would've been irrational because my car definitely would've broken down along the no-service stretch. So I took the expressway out, drove Northeast and told myself to stop running away from the two people that probably love me more than anyone else could ever have the ability to: mom and dad. After all, at the end of the day, it is for them and their overwhelming, unconditional love that I am most thankful.

Plus, I'm convinced that all this "weight" that's been had the last year or so will make everything so much lighter tomorrow.