19:10 - July 27, 2002
timothy pt.... 6? and short term joys
I'm sorry to say this, but sometimes it's not even philosophical.... he just hurts my head. Everything goes back to God. And you just want to ask him what the big picture is? If God gave us free will, then why are you worried about 'sinful thinking'? Is it our fault that thoughts pass through our head, or is it only our fault when and if we choose to act on them? And why does it matter why you're spreading the word? For your own glory or for God's glory; you deserve it if you get it, don't you, if you believe it's such a wonderful, healing thing? So why is that selfish? I don't want you to see a 'bright outlook' for me just because I'm willing to discuss things with you. I'm open for sharing, but that doesn't mean I'm open for changing. And the same old lines keep getting older and older.

To up the mood when I'm feeling lonely (which is a lot lately... there's no one who feels exhilarating anymore) I've been remembering these fleeting people who were in my life at some point or another, even for a very short or insignificant time. Maybe they're just there to grab and hold at times like this.

I had what I call now a 'bus friend'; his name was John (no, it actually was John, I'm not being unspecific on purpose...). He'd gone to my middle school and my high school and was in band with me for six years, but we'd never spoken with each other until the end of my sophomore year, when I started babysitting for some kids on the west side of Evanston and was taking his bus every Tuesday. I don't remember why I started making fun of his zip-leg pants, but I did. It was the first time I'd ever seen pants that zipped off into shorts and I thought they were hilarious. He allowed me to take the challenge of unzipping them without pulling out any of his leg hair. I took on my usual 'stranger persona' and acted like a complete psycho, but he seemed not to mind. I told him outlandish stories of the Australian outback for no reason while he laughed. We walked the five blocks to his house together, and I went the remaining two alone. We did this for six months, and on the last bus day, he came with me to take the kids out for ice cream. To this day, they think he's my boyfriend. I never saw him again after that, though I don't think he graduated, as he was only one year older than me rather than two.... but then the next year I had a car and drove that to work instead.

And in elementary school I would always have this admiring group of little black boys who would corner me on the playground and ask me questions about my mom and my piano playing. They were two or three years younger, and saw me as somewhat of an idol. My mother was their reading teacher, and I had the somewhat unfortunate task of accompanying all the school musicals, concerts, and plays on the piano. However, that meant I got to wear pretty dresses and have my name mentioned all the time and get a fuss made over me, and all the little boys wanted me to teach them how to play the piano. I was painfully shy until I was about fourteen, and there was no way I was going to sit in the auditorium teaching a bunch of first graders how to play piano, so I always ran away from them. Eventually, they gave up. I saw none of them again until I was a sophomore in high school, and this one kid, James, saw me on the train. 'Aint you Ms. H's daughter?' he asked. 'Aint you the one who used to play piano so good?'

'Maybe,' I answered. 'Who are you?'

'Tell your mama James says hi,' he smiled, and disappeared off down the aisle.

When I mentioned him to my mom, she recalled him as being one of the nicest kids in the whole first grade, and all he wanted to do was learn how to play piano.

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