As fate would have it I ran into my Ancient Greek professor an hour before class. I confessed I wasn't up on reading and that I planned to skip out on lecture. He encouraged me to come anyway, and I'm glad I did. But the problem lies in the need for sleep. I went to all classes but French today, and I only missed French because L— needed a Tdap immunization to be allowed at school. Yeah, they're that Nazi in Utah. So after the Health Department I took her with me to meet with the CNF professor, and for an hour we went over this semester's first story, which she aims for me to sharpen, bring to linguistic immediacy, and then publish in the lit journal. That means I'll have more material in this journal than I've had published in a journal previously combined. This fact embarrasses me. It shouldn't, but believe it or not I am actually meek when it comes to this sort of all-at-once accolade. Don't get me wrong. I think I'm good. But four to six pieces in one journal is a gaudy amount. I'm hoping the editors pare it down to three tops.
Then, I did my Tuesday/Thursday 2 1/2 hour block of philosophy. These classes blow my mind. I come out with a cranium of cerebral mush. And whom should be sitting in conversation with L— in the hallway? Empedocles.
I do this thing. I get a social situation figured out in my head, and then I find myself back in the social context where the situation originated...and I can't hold my resolve. Especially when what I have figured out in my head doesn't match with what happens in the real life context.
I need to be spayed. Neutralized. No, that's not fair. Because my relationship with Empedocles is primarily one of honest friendship and Platonic interest. But I definitely wouldn't be experiencing the complications I am if there were no hormones involved.
This is far more info than I should impart online. Gah...
So sleep. That's his excuse for no contact. He's tired. I can't find anything wrong with this reason because I am too. I don't have time for sleep and when I do I can't get enough. I can home this afternoon and slept for two solid hours. I'm still exhausted. So after I left both school and his presence I texted him and told my fine coffee buddy that while felt his pain, I missed his company and I hoped I hadn't done anything to upset him since he isn't any good at responding reliably to texts, and that it had been good to see him again. Three hours later he responded that it is always a pleasure, he apologized for taking off today in a hurry, and that he'd be around.
That whole "being around." That's what we do. That's what I do with anyone.
I must extricate myself from the realm of caring. Didn't I arrive at this conclusion a few nights ago?
I finished the 15-page homage to my father, my hometown, and the origin of identity. There are parts that are nothing less than breathtaking. Sleep now beckons.
Like heaviness and coconuts.