how could i
\ni wouldn’t know<\/i><\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
If there’s one thing I dislike, it’s bloated ravioli. I purposely undercook the pasta by a minute or so just to keep them from swelling. Besides, a big pot of water doesn’t cool down immediately after I turn off the electric burner, so it’s good to give it some time to wind down, in addition to moving the pot onto another burner before fishing out the noodles with a spaghetti spoon (easier than draining them). So my ravioli are nice and firm and tasty bathed in their meat sauce, which, ironically, I overheated in the microwave without covering, leading to some activity of a microvolcanic nature.<\/p>\n
I left work today around quarter to 2 and drove down to the General Administration building to pick up some material for a job designing the programs for an award banquet, along with the certificates. My client is someone I’ve done work for before, but I can still never decide whether to call him by his first or last name. Every time I tell myself that I’m on familiar enough terms to address him as “Bart,” when I see him it just comes out reflexively as “Mr. Corgnati.” He just doesn’t look like someone I’d address by their first name; he doesn’t have that aspect. The building where he works makes me feel a little dressed down in my blue jeans, dark and clean they may be. But he was cordial and organized and the meeting was over in fifteen minutes.<\/p>\n
We’re all more than a little aloof in the apartment, Donald, John, and me. We’ve been closer recently after the “ships passing in the night” phase a month or two ago, when we would barely speak two words to one another all day. Donald’s car has been giving him grief lately, though, to the point he didn’t want to drive it and I drove him a few places, like church on Sunday and to the youth group meetings Saturday and last night. We talked about computer programs, various tacks on relationships, the trip to Europe. I feel like I’ve been missing a companion lately, someone who is a bit closer to my vantage point, or at least gives the impression that he cares to understand the (few) thoughts that make it through lately, and conversations like those we’ve had make the desire feel a bit closer to realization.<\/p>\n
Where are my running thoughts? Where are the sentences that come to me in the car, eyes fixed on the road ahead? Whenever I sit down to write I feel like I’m in a video store of my own thoughts, with a title firmly in mind until I walk in the door, only to wander aimlessly among the subsections afterwards until I find something that “looks good.” I wish I could just ask the clerk which thoughts I’ve been wanting to express for a long time, and she’d punch a few keys on her terminal and direct me to the proper section, with a knowing comment of approval if the thought I had requested was one she’d heard before and was particularly meaningful. But would I then have to pay to write my thoughts? And get charged late fees if they took too long to express themselves? And the metaphor snaps… Heh.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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