journal-03/15/00

03/15/00

i'm glad i decided to pay cash for my gasoline tonight.

"is that all, darlin'?" (he said, looking at my dr. pepper)
"pump #5 too" (i replied, digging into my wallet)
(then i thought for a moment,)
"you know, that's the first time anybody's called me 'darlin' in new england."
"really? well, what can i say, i'm from texas."
"no way! i'm from texas too!"
"what part?"
"just outside dallas."
"oh, well, dallas ain't really a part of texas, it might as well be in oklahoma" (he said with a wink and a grin)
"you must be from houston" (i replied with a smile as wide as... texas)
"what part of dallas are you from?"
"richardson"
"really? know where plano is? i have some friends there."
"yep, actually that's where my parents live now, i always kid them, calling them yuppies" (i said with a smirk-- plano is... yuppy-ville)
(he laughed and wished me on my way)
(i hesitated, not quite ready to let go of this momentary connection)
"how long have you been in new england?"
"oh, 'bout 3 or 4 years now"
"you like it here then?"
"oh, i love it better than any place in the world. i like to see the seasons-- the spring, the beautiful leaves in the fall-- i like to see snow falling." (he said almost dreamily)
"once you get used to the people."
"yeah, the people are different."
(i said) "they're just so aloof."
(and then he said, more eloquently than he'll ever be aware...)
"people here are just bummed out is all..."

and we left it at that.

"have a good one!"
"yep, you too!"

i wonder, if i weren't a texan and if i hadn't been raised a certain way, would i always be so quick to smile at people i don't know?

i wonder, would my upstairs neighbor's car battery have been dead in the morning when she went to go start her car, had i not gone upstairs and introduced myself to her (them), to let her know she'd left the light on inside her car?

i wonder how much of this statement from Flaubert's Parrot is true... "The secret of happiness... is to be happy already."

because right now, i pretty much have no clue.

i know i need more time to myself, especially right now when i need to gear up for the search for a new job, when i desperately desire more time to write (sometimes the need is urgent), i think it's just that right now doing what i love most (writing) isn't what's making my living. someday that will be what's making my living, and until then i will suffer from the thirst i have for keeping pen to paper, watching as the ink dances across the page and symbols appear almost unbeknownst to me, and then the pen stops and rests on the desk, and i have my latest soul-pouring, cast in the fine sawdust pressed into rectangular sheets, waiting for my scrupulous eyes...