Enter Me...

...and then here I am. The doors to the ballroom propped open, the other guests come through as well. I am one walking. They are many. We are now just simple sentences on a blog where the reader is not sure what--or if-- there is any meaning. "Enter Me," it means several things to this writer. It's stage direction. It's someone's eyes that I looked at and said, "babe." It's a thought that persists. It's medicine. It's air. It's all this and it's all in THIS now.

As I write, Art is interviewing a perspective roommate. We were introduced just an hour ago and I don't remember his name. I shook his hand and did that smiling stuff that one does out of courtesy. I'm surprised that they're still talking an hour later. This would seem to be a good sign. I can't imagine if I were interviewing for a room that I didn't want that I would stay this long. I guess this means I have to go get a new shower curtain... hahaha

Cardwell should be here anytime. I just acted on my impulse and called. You know that feeling you have when you call someone and you hope that they don't answer because you want to leave them a message, be it cute or stupid, but you can't if they answer the phone? Or sometimes the situation is that you like a person and you just want to hear their voice, but they answer and you're caught off guard and have to talk to them. Fluster. The latter just happened to me. (Actually a combination of both, I was going to leave a message)

If intimacy has levels, or we define it to be such, then I was close to ground zero with Joshua in the time we spent together Sunday & Monday. Terminal bliss.