April 16, 2002
Tueseday

There is a bit of good news today. I realized that (probably) the reason my telephone was set to speakerphone yesterday was that I turned on call forwarding to the cell before driving back to H&R Block. Usually when I program call forwarding, I do it via speakerphone because it's easier. There just isn't any reason to bother with the handset. So, WHEW!

--Went to the Double Meat Palace with someone I met at Scream'n Bean after the Nader rally. A group had been sitting around debating gay marriage and abortion rights. As the shop was closing, she mentioned that she would like to hang out sometime, and so I gave her my phone number and email address.

It turns out that she's moving this week and tonight was the only chance she really had to go out. We talked and had a blast playing scrabble. She had accidentally turned over a tile and played it as a blank. When we figured it out later, I gave her endless teasing about it.

It also turns out that she's in pretty good with the people who work at the Double Meat; which is a good thing because they let us finish our game while they were closing. And I even got to sneak in a Chopin prelude on the piano as we were leaving.

As an interesting side note, she invited me back to her place, where she "also has a piano." But seeing how it was 1:30 in the morning, her power was turned off, and I had been the glorious recipient of a foot massage earlier (I will never-ever turn down a foot massage), I suspect there were other motives involved. At least I think so; I'm trying to be less woefully-oblivious than I usually am.

Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure she's about 18 and I didn't bother to ask. Not that it matters anyway. I still can't bring myself to get excited about sex unless I know someone first.

It seems everyone I meet at the Scream'n Bean (in contrast to the Double Meat) is young. I found out several weeks ago that when I first met Jen she was sixteen. 16. One, six. Ten plus six. The idea baffles me. Thinking back to when I was 16 makes my head hurt. The difference between her and me at sixteen is about as many light years. At the time, I had guessed she was maybe twenty.

Shack pointed out that she may have miscalculated the number of years we've known each other. I hope so -- for my sake. Though I was rather sheltered growing up, and she had already been through a lot. There is something about trauma and pain that makes us grow. Either that or it kills us -- outright or inside.

Do dreams sprout only in turned soil?

Discontentment delivers us from comfort.

I've had my fair share of turned soils and of discontentment. But it's all relatively recent -- starting around eighteen perhaps. I'm a late bloomer. Thank goodness for extended life spans.