Creative Juice Overflow

I made the right decision about my final: My professor gave me a W. Woot!

I found some writing I did this summer. I'm hoping to have a book someday, so these fragments may coalesce at some point. I favor the stream-of-consciousness approach paired with dialogue, so that's the style, for the most part. Most of this would be the narration, should I actually follow this through. I've left it alone for a while - the random bursts of creativity don't come as often as they used to. I think I've just been preoccupied with everything else. These are in no particular order and are unedited (read very rough draft).

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Me: Summer has always been my favorite time of year.
You: Why?
Me:It’s always hot.
You:It isn’t always hot.
Me: It’s humid enough to feel hot. I’ve never cared for the cold.
You: I don’t mind it. What else have you never cared for?

I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I didn’t. I sipped the coconut concoction you’d made earlier in the afternoon.

You: Something’s missing.
Me: A little paper umbrella?
You: Yes, and a cherry skewered by a small plastic sword.

Fitting that you would say that.

Me: There are no more cherries.

But we have an abundance of swords.

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I had been training my brain to think in those terms for as long as I can remember. Even in high school, it took me a while to warm up to the notion of infinity. Negative infinity was worse. I suppose this way of viewing the world in absolutes contributed in some fashion to my skepticism of love. Only numbers are forever, and perhaps the universe - at least as far as we're concerned. I'm not sure we could handle it if the universe were finite. Besides, Descartes was usually my companion. Dead, he was better company than most men.

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I tell you "I love you" and it fits. It is as if you've been waiting your whole life for it, and perhaps you have. You seem to think it means something great, as though nothing will ever go wrong again. Perhaps it won't, but I have my doubts. I'm not even certain I know what it means. My experience has taught me that what I think is love now may not be my definition of love in a year. I don't change my mind, but my heart acts on its own accord.

I used to walk outside in the dark because I could. I used to lie on my back and stare at the sky and wonder all sorts of ridiculous things. How big is it? Does it go on forever? Or does it eventually stop, and if it does, is God on the other side? And if I could just get close enough, could I touch a star? I imagine I'd only burn myself. Anything worth touching has the capacity to burn.

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The bills were cheaper this month. So was the talk. Sometimes I think I should have my own language. I imagine that's a child's game. It seems perfectly sensible to me. The English vocabulary frustrates me to no end. When was the last time you were completely satisfied with a word?

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I prefer the dark, as my pale complexion indicates. In the dark, I'm alert. When it's dark, I can make better use of my time. Sunshine can be an awful distraction in July. My eyes are dark. it's much easier for them to adjust to darkness.

There's a certain famililarity with darkness. Also a certain uncertainty. In daylight there are no surprises, but in the dark, something could always happen.

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Somewhere along the line people lost the notion - and value - of one. We moved from being people to being almost complete. The concept of "better half" became far too literal, and men and women alike scrambled to find the rest of themselves hidden in a member of the opposite sex. I'm sure Jerry Maguire wasn't the first to utter "You complete me."

He didn't complete me. I was complete before him, and I was no less of a person in his absence. It would be more accurate to say he complemented me. We were good on our own, like vodka and orange juice, but together, we were much more effective. He was intoxicating, and I'm sure he'd say I was good with breakfast.

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I think that's a good stopping point.