Crumpets + Marmalade = Crazy-Delicious

Okay. It's official. We do not have a blog. We have an ongoing communal. A commune, if you will. We are communists!

Not bloggers. Communists. Got it? Good.

Tess, starry one, shall I come home at the beginning of the summer instead of the end, so that we can apartment hunt together and perhaps tickle some sanity into you? I know it's hard, baby, I do, but there's only so much you can worry about it. Let us roll with it together, I will sell a kidney and be your sugarmama. Live in my house, I'll be your shelter, just pay me back with one thousand mornings of you waking up in your thong underwear squinting at the curtains and craving a bagel. Yeah? I will totally come home earlier. Nothing's holding me here but the prospect of an easy job through the summertime.

So here's what happened to me yesterday, okay? It was a good day, the sort of day that picks you up by the scruff of your neck and shakes you vigorously and dumps you into a vat of dementia. Rock.

First. I watched Comedy Central and made this commune. Then I had drama and played games all day in drama, and watched two guys (one an Italian football player, the other a slow, droopy sort of cinema geek) be gunslingers in an improv scene. YES. And I won playing Scorpion. And then, in another class, this guy who I have met frequently through various people shows up. It's a seminar class. I didn't know he was in it. But cool, that's all good. And he asks for a ride downtown, so I oblige, and I find out I'm giving him a ride to his improv show. And he buys a half-tank of gas, which is great. So fuck, I'll watch improv. It's free, too. Saucy.

And then he buys me dinner. Which is really good tenderloin and portobello mushrooms and little fried onions and bleu cheese and tomatoes. Soooo good. A little sketch that he bought me dinner, but whatever, I'm grateful.

Improv is lots of fucking fun.

And then I go home. And I want to talk to Topher, but he's not around. He's playing pool with his roommate. So I go, hey, it's nine o'clock. Maybe I should apply for that arts grant that's due today. Sure. Brilliance. So I crazy-fast pump out a cover letter, a resume, writing references, a timeline of work completed, and a writing sample. Done - at the stroke of midnight. I am sooo good. Someone give me a pony.

Sara races by me on her way to Scav Hunt. There are screams and shouts of "Where's your hall pass?" coming from the quads. I'm feeling pretty delicious.

Tenacious D comes on the radio as I start up the car, singing the tribute to the greatest song in the world. I take this for an omen that I am going to get laid tonight. I am right.

In the rain, walking across the midway, I see this floating pair of jeans and white T-shirt, bobbing around in a rhythm I know. Topher's got this weird sense of balance, I think his spine's misaligned. He sort of bounces on his knees and moves his torso with his legs. I pick him up and take him home.

And he hands me this envelope with two folded pieces of paper inside, and it's just a little rambling he wrote the other night when he left me sleeping at three in the morning to go write some poetry down, about people crossing each other on their way to other paths, and how with the swift intimacy and the fear so many people put into it, we are often not certain if it was good. But this, with me, he looks at as a connection of an intense sort and he is less lonely for it, as we are both fully inside it. And we talk a little, about that, about us, about our past failures with loving people without wanting to be with them. And we hold each other for a very long time, and we both cry a little, remembering. "I miss them," I say, and he whispers, "So do I. But you should always be close to people, Tei." I hiccup. "I know. I wish they knew." And his hands are on my face and he's kissing me and we make love all night and fall asleep with his nose in my ear.

And now I'm eating crumpets.

Love.