february has been bittersweet for me. there have been a few shiny moments, but mostly the month has been cold and dismal, in most senses of the words. i am hoping for a brighter march and a lighter april. by may, i hope to look out my window (wherever that window may be, as you may well know by now that i am moving, again) and see the springtime sun. but i really don't know what my future holds.

it's so easy to say that Everything Happens for a Reason and It All Works Out in the End, but i must admit that there is a nagging voice in the back of my head that keeps muttering, What is Going On and Why The Hell is This Happening. the glass is not half full, it's half empty, damnit, and i am so thirsty i think i am going to pass out. it's hard to keep my chin up when things keep dragging it down. it's hard to forge forward when the road ahead is so dark.

i try to focus on the good things: phonecalls from faraway friends, cups of coffee fresh out of the pot, fresh flowers on the dining table, meals that make my mouth happy, songs that say it all. those things make me smile. do not underestimate the power of one smile. it can make all the difference. it certainly has, lately, for me.

and thus wrote christine on 2/22/2001. +

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in my experience, february in massachusetts is rarely a good time, with its windy cold and continuous darkness, but this year i'm enjoying myself. the warm week in houston helped, of course. i returned home to discover birds-a-chirping outside my window in the twenty-five degree dawn, so it looks like spring might be coming to new england at some point. no one ever told my what puxtawney phil had to say on the subject this year.

i've been watching episodes of the muppet show, driving around in the cold sunlight with friends listening to the velvet underground, house-sitting and taking care of the cats for a friend's parents who live downtown. spooning up a crock of chowder. driving west, then east, then up and down the coast. fresh coffee at dunkin' donuts is never far off.

not every day has been filled to the brim with good conversation, but that's okay, because there's sure to be plenty in the near future. i have a feeling that meeting you and dozens of others for the first time in austin will jump-start my spring. there's nothing better than travelling across the country for friend-meeting, walking, socializing, learning, idea exchanging, eating and sipping. i've been in one pretty comfotable place for so long that i nearly forgot how much i love moving around.

and thus wrote ryan on 2/19/2001. +

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good conversation is becoming less common and more precious to me these days. i don't know if it's because i'm getting older, because the world is getting faster, or because i simply do not make the effort. a little of all three, perhaps.

saturday night, however, was one of those evenings that i got to share good food and even better company. a bunch of friends, old and new, sat in a fireplace-lit living room, drunk on wine and laughter. and may i add that i was quite wary of attending this dinner party in the first place, because i knew i would be the only single girl there and i hate playing the part of bridget jones. luckily, i had no reason to worry.

i'm glad to hear that you, too, had many evenings like that in houston, with your girl and her friends. in the days of rushed hellos and voicemail friendships, such moments are a treasure. i anticipate many more good times in march. only three weeks until we finally meet. can you believe it?

and thus wrote christine on 2/15/2001. +

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i'm not always as open with spoken words as i am with written ones. or at least, not when it comes to the lady at the grocery store. all of my strongest friendships are built upon walking and talking, and i enjoy that talking most when it is honest and open and brave and it stretches late into the evening. i think i need to have at least one intimate face-to-face conversation every few days to keep my mind on track, to prevent my head from exploding. sometimes email and phones just don't cut it: i need close discussion with a real live person, so i can speak to them and then watch them speak to me.

real talking reminds me that i am a single individual among many, interacting with things and people. without it, i get caught up in my own little large world of imagination and small problems turned big. i suppose i can only take so much of myself.

in shopping malls, crowded streets, big empty parks, and flourescent-lit offices, i tend to be less open with words. it's like i'm observing rather than participating, and the changing of gears required to tell a story to someone i bump into can feel awkward. i even have trouble with the brief mumbling required to order a cup of coffee. these are my binary social mood-modes; at a party, i either stand on the sidelines, carefully watching, or i sit right in the middle, talking and asking and making jokes. lately, i've been a bit more extroverted.

i've spent the last week in houston, where "the girl" and i had a lovely time walking, talking, and looking. she has bunches of rad friends with whom we hung out at restaurants and bars and cafes. and good conversation came naturally with those people, in those places. i enjoyed the city despite the smoggy air that kept my sore throat soaring. i'm back in plymouth now, where it's been easy to fall back into my comfortable routine of work and web. hopefully, i'll have time for more writing. but words or not, i miss the girl.

and thus wrote ryan on 2/12/2001. +

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i have always wanted to share my thoughts, feelings and ideas with other people, and i don't know why that is. maybe it's the writer impulse in me, this grand notion that i have something to say that the world deserves to hear. (writer anne lamott would certainly think so.) although common sense tells me some things are better left unheard, another voice tells me it is better to be honest and open and brave. and so, i am very open with my words. i don't hold back: on websites, in letters, even through anecdotes told to the lady at the grocery store.

but i just know that i am going to get myself into trouble that way, and i am waiting for it to hit.

sometimes, i think about what will happen when i die and people stumble upon the box of journals i've been keeping since i was 9. there is a lot of self-indulgent, blush-worthy, practically-incoherent blather within the pages of those books. hopefully, it will be taken with good humor.

(also, i've been meaning to tell you how pleased i am that sixfoot6 is back. i've missed it and you. and, how are things, anyway? with you, the girl, the home. i never seem to ask you the simple questions, anymore.)

and thus wrote christine on 2/8/2001. +

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i used to have a small tape recorder that i carried around with me, just in case i needed to capture an idea for a poem, song or story. i think my father gave it to me for christmas, hoping to "encourage my creative mind". (that's a phrase i would probably never use, but it's a sentiment i appreciate.) i carried that tape recorder during an entire year of college in boston, taking it out only a few times to record my own voice. more often, i used it to record the sound of the subway, or birds on the street, or the voice of a woman who sat down to talk to me about finding jesus.

there have been only two periods in my life when i've kept a private journal. i scribbled down thoughts on the day's events nearly every night during my freshman year of college, and i kept a travel log during a ten day trip to europe two years ago. these were times of rapid growth and new experience, and i wrote it all down to make sense of it to myself. now that years have past, the scribblings present a raw, unedited look at my thoughts and my thought process, my fears, hopes, and so forth. some of it is scary and stupid, some of it makes me nostalgic for moments when my head was full to the brim with ideas and possibilities.

those old journals help me to remember, but they don't help my to construct. nowadays, (a fine and under-utilized word), i am less interested in private writing and more interested in finding ways to use words to connect myself to others. it's not always that easy. hand-written letters are a damn good place to start.

nowadays, everything i write is meant to be read. everything i say is meant to be heard. and almost everything i think is meant to be shared. i wonder, though, if there is a more central part of myself that never gets a voice because i don't scribble in a private journal anymore. that part might have something important to express. maybe it knows what i want to do next.

a note to everybody: two's company, and company is nice, but a crowd of three or four or twenty is even better. so if you're reading, click on the hand icon and add some words of your own. respond to what we've said, or share something new, or just give a good old-fashioned shout out. we'd love to know who else is in this with us.

and thus wrote ryan on 2/7/2001. +

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tonight, on my way to my parents' house i listened to a tape i made. not a mixed tape, mind you, but something else--a tape of me, my thoughts, my ideas, my voice. i started recording my thoughts months ago as a way to keep myself occupied during my commute. too often i'd be sitting in my car stuck in traffic when an idea would hit, and i'd wish i could write it down right then. (there is the rare occasion that i'd actually write it down right then, and i admit that's far worse than any los angeles cellphone driver.) so, i started to fill cassettes with my life. as if i didn't document it enough, already.

it was so strange, listening to this tape that spanned the last two months of the year. it was a period i'd almost forgotten existed, or maybe one i wanted to forget existed. there was so much doubting and crying and hating, followed by a lot of understanding and laughing and forgiving. what seems strangest, i think, is that i don't think a lot of people who are close to me know any of it even went on. in fact, i know they don't. but the thing is, i couldn't let it stop me. i had to keep going. work, eat, sleep, smile, laugh, nod. breathe. i had to keep going.

it all seems so long ago. and now, another month has gone by in a blink.

i guess what i'm saying, in my lovely long-winded way, is that like you i've been too busy to keep in touch. there seemed something so gravely wrong with this cassette i held in my hand that represented a slice of my life, which i never shared with anyone else. i am going to work on that. it will be, dare i say it, a resolution of mine. more handwritten letters, sunday afternoon phone calls, and visits because i was in the neighborhood. it's been too long.

and thus wrote christine on 2/2/2001. +

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