Three Drops

Dear J-

Last night, as I’m falling asleep, topics come into my head unbidden: interesting arguments and assertions talk talk talking about my generation and my roles, what I do and how I do it. This morning, though? Complete blank. Complete. Utter. Blank. Too much fun? More like not enough sleep. I can tell: it’s the end of the week, my thoughts are coming in staccato fashion, and I can barely form complete sentences. With any luck I won’t have to write anything today, but you know how luck goes. I’m not sure if I’m busy or not, if I’m getting presents or not, which list I’m on … because I’m often not. Just not.

They’re calling this the strongest storm of the past decade and I don’t honestly see it yet, though I’ve only been in it for a few minutes at best. Schools all over the Bay Area are closed in anticipation of the rain, like we needed another excuse to sound soft to the rest of the world (insert “back in my day, two miles uphill both ways” story), though I suppose the tolerance level is changing — parents seem annually more protective of their kids, and reducing potential traffic is a noble goal. But still: nothing demonstrable and you’re ready to hit the panic button? That’s some heavy peer pressure. I’d expected more rain by now but I suppose I should count my blessings and not complain so much.

It appears to be a beautiful day brewing, not from a weather standpoint but an aesthetic one: lights reflecting long trails off the pavement, cities quietly going about their business as they proceed with hurried steps, colorful slickers and boots dotted here and there among the raingoing patrons. Life in the big leagues, perhaps? For a kid from a not-so-major-metro area, any city seems amazingly huge, and the thought that you can drive for an hour in almost any direction but west before leaving towns behind is almost inconceivable. Key words: almost (as urban as Boston was, it only took half an hour to get out into the woods) and inconceivable (the wheat fields of my memory have been replaced with housing tracts and scads of McMansions, according to satellite photos: this is the pace of life). What we love is popular enough that others will want a piece of it too; we should be thankful while we are upright and aware.

Mike

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