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January

I’m nostalgic and I just wanna write.

It’s funny just how quickly it all moves. I read my favorite post from last year, called “July ” and it inspired me to write the follow-up, which is this one. I remember that summer day so well, because it was my favorite one…and somehow it’s all completely changed. It wasn’t even six months ago.

I just ordered some Thai food. I’ll probably go get that once I’m done writing. I like that when you order Thai, or Chinese, you have to speak really clearly. Well, you don’t have to, but you sort of automatically start speaking really clearly, like you’re giving a presentation to an old folk’s home, because you know that the other little voice on the end of the line didn’t grow up where you did. They come from somewhere else, and they probably miss someone there, someone who rides a bicycle in the summer and has hair that gets messy in the wind. I think that’s a really nice gesture.

I’ve been having these really vivid dreams. For months, I’ve just been seeing all sorts of folks from my past. And they’re warm and they smile, and we’re in a town or on an airplane or in the basement of a nice home back east. Last night, you were in my dream, and you kissed my forehead, and I remembered what it was like when you still looked at me with fire in your eyes. And I had to cross some sort of busy highway just to get to the bus that would take us both away. I didn’t get all the way across, though, because cars were zooming past me like lightning, and suddenly I just woke up. I didn’t want to wake up, but I did. Dreams like those, they’ll wake you up.

I’m sitting here and it’s really quiet, but it’s not the nice kind of quiet. I think that January always brings some sort of void. Maybe it’s because everything happens so fast during the fall, and this is just the echo of a very huge bang! like smoke from the firecrackers at midnight. I think everyone feels it, because when I walk on a busy street, people are looking at their feet. I wonder sometimes if men know the importance of a good shoe. I don’t think that’s what they’re thinking about, though, when they walk around downtown in January.

I overheard some students today at the coffee shop and all they could talk about was people on television. They could only talk about people that they know on campus. They kept talking about changing their majors by using abbreviations like “comp” and “polysci” and “soc-“. And somehow they all looked the same, and they all sounded the same, like a battalion marching in cadence. They just sounded the exact same. I don’t know why, but I just couldn’t believe them. I couldn’t believe anything they were saying to be real, honest thoughts. Why do we fill the air with such empty blabber? I felt sorry for these young people that could only talk about television.

I read a perfect book recently. It’s called “The Little Prince”. Have you read it before? I went to a bookstore and I found it on the very bottom of the shelf, nestled right next to my favorite book, which is called “The Catcher in the Rye” (and actually I forgot to tell you: I had to sit down cross-legged to find this book, and the carpet left a funny pattern on my leg, which I noticed later when I started reading the book). (Oh, and I also forgot to tell you: I bought this book because someone told me it was their favorite book, and when someone says that, I think it’s important to read that book, so that you know what that person’s soul is like). (Oh, and please remember one more thing: all grown-ups were once children, although few of them remember it. That’s from “The Little Prince”). (I think I’m going to read a lot more books now).

Recently, I decided I wanted to become better at drawing human faces. I think that a lot of people are really beautiful, and the best way you could make them believe that is by showing them their own face. Except it’s their face made by your hands, the way you see them. I admire people that can draw faces really well because they’re quite difficult! If you ever try, you will notice that people have two differently shaped eyes. Most of the time, one of these eyes is just slightly more closed than the other, like the person is almost ready to wink at you. You will also notice that girls are much more difficult to draw, and that is because they are much more beautiful. It’s quite hard to draw beautiful things. It’s quite easy to draw ugly things.

I think that nobody comes from one place in particular. I think that you actually come from a hundred places, because you’re always moving around. For example, I think that I come from a city in west Texas, but I also come from the corner of “University” and “Broadway”, and that’s because I spent quite a lot of time there, thinking about myself, and drinking coffee, and talking with strangers. You come from almost everywhere. I think that’s why we get nostalgic, like the way I feel right now. We get nostalgic because we can remember things, and people, and places where we used to be. It feels strange to remember them, because they feel closer to your heart when you think about them, even though they’re very far away.

Anyway.

I think that it’s probably time to go get my Thai food. I ordered the “Stir-fry Veggie Noodles”, in case you were wondering, with medium hotness. When I get to the restaurant, there will be a man there who wears a wedding ring and smiles all the time. He always calls me “sir”, even though I’m much younger! I think he comes from a country called “Nepal”, which I understand is near India, and I think is also where Mt. Everest sits. I wonder who…well, I just got a really really scary phone call, and that leads me to this:

I think that being alive is really something else, and that remembering things is why we love to live so much. I wonder what it would be like if we couldn’t remember anything. I think that would be very frightening, and I don’t want to think about it. I would rather be alive, exactly like this, and remember everything.

I’m nostalgic and I just wanna write.

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