Echo

Will we become a two man wolfpack of self-absorption?
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2/12/2011

oh my god.

Text exchange with Whitney

Me: I’m unpacking the stuff I’d put in storage and found love notes from Reggie. The most unbelievable, sweetest things ever. I read them all, then threw them away.

W: That was a good response. You are now ready to find fiance.

Me: How did you know.

W: I always know.

Me: What should I do with photos?

W: Those are always harder. Keep two good ones and chuck the rest. Maybe even just scan those in and put them in a hidden file on your computer.

Me: How the fuck do you know this shit. You are like the Woman in Black. By the way, more and more I’m convinced this is the Matrix. But I always love Carrie-Anne Moss in that jacket.

W: It is the matrix. I want to be able to rock that haircut she does and make out with Keanu. Does that mean you are the oracle?

Me: What is the oracle? I have been dropping mad knowledge. This guy, I guessed his birthday. Month, day, year. I was off by time by about 2 and a half hours. And he tried to question how I know things and I’m like, dude, hasn’t the universe given you proof of magic? I figured out your BIRTHDAY.

W: That’s amazing. You are totally the oracle which means you can tell who the One is. I’m impressed by the birthday guess but not surprised cause you got the gift.

Me: How do you know this? Where can I read the symbols?

Whitney, do you remember the recurring guy in my dream? I’ve been dreaming about him forever. And how I wrote some details about him I remembered from the dreams and even posted those things on Match.com and Missed Connections, saying I was looking for the recurring man in my dreams…?

He fits.

And I made a list of what I was looking for in a partner. He fit that too.

And that for as long as I could read my tarot deck, I knew I was looking for an earth man and what I’ve growingly come to feel was a taurus, he fits.

And when all last year I spent in solitude, contemplating the number 29 and saying over and over, 9 needs 11 to get to 22 (a 29 being a very specific 11), to the point I was convinced I was looking for a 29 Taurus, he fits. His birthday adds up to 29.

And I just think…could it be possible.

W: Of course it can be possible. Anything and everything is possible. People can come into your life when you dream them into it, like how angels come into your life when you need them. You just have to keep your eyes open to make sure they are in your life for the reason you think. Sometimes they play a different role than the one you cast in your head. So people can be dreamed into fruition but you have to be awake to see their place.

Me: Dude, Whitney, we did good for ourselves. If I am the oracle, what are you?

W: TBD.

The thing to know about writers is that we choose our words carefully. And the good ones, write what the mean, and mean what they write, even if they themselves aren’t completely aware of it.

The first time I fall asleep in his arms, he’ll know.
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Cindy, I know the university rulebook says we can’t date, but it also says don’t teach drunk and I do that all the time…the point is, I like you. I do. You’re sweet, you’re funny, you’re writing a dissertation entitled, “Foreign Direct Investment and Intergenerational Linkages in Consumptive Behavior” and I mean, that is hhhhhot. I know this sounds crazy but, I feel like our paths are supposed to cross somehow, and I don’t want to miss out on knowing you.
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He said I was always on the front burner.

Thank God. That was what I really needed to hear.

Surprise. He came through.

I’m so relieved.

Its oddly easy. And familiar.
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He has until he turns 30. That’s why, May.

That’s why I’m sad. It’s in another person’s hands.

And what if what’s mine, is this secret love that I can never have, can never talk about.

One where everyone knows, but no one talks about it.

Because of the trajectory I lived, I have to accept what’s mine.

I assumed it would be a partner.

But what if it’s the love that is mine? What if in it’s purest, most honest form, that’s what it is,

and that’s just the situation?

Yes, I completely understand why. He has a history with her. He has a life with her. He has an entire network, an entire world. It’s not just two people.

And with me, he has love.

And it’s mutually exclusive to his love for her.

What then? What do I believe. That the right thing to do is face the reality of truth. And make art from it. Or decide I won’t accept it?

It’s a maze, and then a well and then a door and then a lock. And a code that forms enigma. And when you find yourself on the other side, in the world that’s reflects this one, it’s just a girl who can’t sleep, talking to the moon, listening for an answer.

You don’t have to believe in me, Dave. But you have to believe in something.
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I’m not interested in emotional roller coasters. I am not interested in emotional roller coasters. I have to be the one firm enough and with enough self respect to not get on.
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We have a customer coming to play basketball tonight and before we left for work, Matt turned to me and said, “Have fun tonight at basketball with Bill, and I’ve never met his fiancee, but I’m sure she’s very nice and deserving of happiness so PLEASE don’t seduce him.”
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People really only recognize me when they miss me.
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See the world, and nobody believes me. Always asking you to prove it. And then you sit there quietly on that mountain in the night, staring at a full moon, wondering when you’ll meet someone who can see it to.
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when your love has gone…

you carry on…

I happened to just look up my ticket confirmation so I knew it when he asked me what it was a few minutes later. I recited it. He was shocked. That’s really impressive, he said. The things you keep in your head.

And I let him be amazed for a few moments, then told him it was because I’d just read it a few minutes ago.

And what I found in today’s bag of tricks:

I know what day Anne Frank started her diary. Two days after her birthday. Let’s see how that one comes up.

If you have seen me wearing my shirt that says Not My Dude, you are most likely not my dude.
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“I live in San Jose. Every time I go out dancing, the next thing I know, there’s some Indian engineer grinding me in the ass with his pencil dick.”
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We stopped in front of the store, classic cars lit up in the night.

“Ooh, look at that car,” he said, and I didn’t car about the car, but I liked how shiny it was.

“That car says Rich Fag all over it,” I said.

“What’s your name? Rich Fag.”

And then we giggled down the street, because that’s just the way we are sometimes when we’re both happy.

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