A Bridge O'er Pacific

This day snuck up on me. When Winter Break ended, Bridget's departure was a far off thing, easily three months in the future (of course, I returned on Jan 17th, and she left today, March 21st, so I must have rounded up to the full length of all three months). Now it's gone, and I feel like the kid who slept through New Years' and woke to find all the snack foods eaten, half of the couches sporting an inebriated human drapery, and mother asleep in father's lap with one strap her dress on the wrong half of her shoulder. I knew, as I fell asleep, that the New Year was coming, but closed my eyes and fell through the hole to China, where the New Year had already come.

I'm upset that I'm not more upset about her leaving. Why can't I ever feel straightforwardly?

I've spent the last week and a half embracing the role of the stoner. The hemp messenger bag, the long hair, spontaneous smoking of joints, an androgenous green tunic and embroidered stars on a pair of denim flares. I could get used to this, but only if St. Louis warms up a little bit. There are stories to tell from my week in Florida, and the road tripping it took to get there and back, but I haven't got it in me tonight. I'm kinda mixed up, and I should be writing a short story instead of a blog post. And my armpit hurts.

-Alan