Here is what I wrote yesterday:

2/8/05 4:36pm

It's the beginning of February and it. is. GORGEOUS. I walked outside for the first time this afternoon to the most beautifully serene setting. People on towels, reading books, listening to music, tossing a baseball, a frisbee, talking, laughing quietly in groups. It was like the cover of those shiny green college pamphlets that everyone knows are lies.

I'm sitting in the fading sun under the false shade of a brown-leafed tree and pretending it's Spring.

The steady thwack thwack of baseballs hitting gloves is comforting in a way I'd forgotten. I just saw Justin and Steve and Josh but I didn't call out to them. I don't know why. Too busy savoring my own observation. The skateboarders are back. Someone's throwing a football. HatJosh gets up, says it's getting too cold, and I can feel Winter creeping, swirling around my bare toes but I don't want to go inside just yet. HatJosh is back, but only for his keys. I would stay. I am staying. When I first came outside I was greeted by Jessy and Cos and Leary with stories of throwing a plastic man with a parachute out the fourth floor window. The girls at the picnic table next to me are singing. Aaron just missed the ball and it patted me on the butt. I threw it back with my left hand and didn't even miss. I didn't want to let go of my pen. Brandon is dancing alone in his room. DDR probably. Jessy is watching the ball flash back and forth, thwack and throw. A kid just rode by on a Vespa. The girls behind me are talking about The Vagina Monologues, set to open in a week. They're loud and laughing and cursing and Hilary just brought back a huge unidentified box from Cambridge. Maybe it's a bomb. Someone just yelled "JASON!" out a top story window in Centerville. A plane flies overhead. The skateboarders are louder than the yelling, the entreaties to throw the ball, the rustling of packing tape and new plastic things that aren't bubble wrap, the laughter everywhere. The girl next to me and watching Hilary with interest misses bubble wrap. I do too. It's not a bomb, it's music. Yellowed sheets of music wrapped with care in plastic bags from Kohl's and Target. Everyone is musical here. I love Bel Air. I did call out to Ray. He always looks confused when I do that. Maybe I'll IM the others or something.

For now I'm just enjoying the music.

ink :: graphite