memories and shallow confessions

an open letter to eric

Hey, Shmoops.

What a weekend, huh?

It feels weird to be back at work, since I feel like I should be working at the festival office or helping someone hang a poster or banner or something, but I’ve gots to make the cash, yo, so we can see your little brother graduate next month.

I just wanted to thank you for a wonderful weekend.  It had the perfect mix of everything.

Were you still awake Friday night when we were all sitting around talking about the cats becoming militant activists?  Lillith was going to start spouting feline propaganda whenever someone would listen to her, and change her name to “Meow X.”  Actually, my favorite was:

“We need to take the ‘ow’ out of ‘meow’ and put a bit more of the ‘me’ back in.”

“We’re not going to sit around and Uncle Tom anymore”  (Tom, of course, referencing Tom and Jerry)

“I’ve seen the light, and it isn’t from inside my litter box.”

I think it started by me saying she was militant about getting cheese ever since your mom couldn’t stop feeding her cheese crumbs.  Oh, yeah, I think you were there.  You were getting sleepy.

That was around the time that I was asking if it’s terrible that I think the middle prisoner of war is cute.  I guess I know it’s terrible.  I want those guys to be safe, but the middle one has that movie quality that’s like if Elvis became a prisoner of war.  All the girls would be glued to the televisions wondering if the King was going to be okay.   Not that I think this man is Elvis or anything… I don’t like Elvis… I’m starting to babble because I feel like an idiot for thinking he’s cute when there’s so much terrible–

But then I think, at least I can feel a human emotion about all of this stuff, you know?  It’s so far away and the history is so deep and it seems no one knows how to explain it all and we know it’s a war and there’s bombs and those refugees are going through the worst thing I’ve ever seen– but it’s so far away that people aren’t concerned about it, you know?  It seems like when there were wars before it was constantly on the minds of the American people.  The other day the Kosovo coverage came after a discussion about U-Haul overcharging Austinites. No one seems to have their hearts or their minds on this, and I don’t know what’s the right way to feel.  So at least I feel passion and sympathy and something about what is going on over there.  It’s shallow, I know, it’s not me saying, “Hey, buddy, at least I feel!  I think the second prisoner of war is a hottie,” but rather I wish that people talked about it.  I wish I knew what was going on over there.  I wish it wasn’t secondary news.  I can’t believe with all the channels we have there isn’t a war channel that just keeps giving updates and information.  So what if the reporters can’t be there to film footage?  Tell us what’s happening.  Keep us informed and we want to know more, right?

So, yeah.  I think the middle prisoner of war is cute.  Now I’ll go put on my headgear and write in my slam book for an hour.

I feel really good this week, since my part of the show is over.  It’s time to sit back and see how it goes.  I’m glad there’s just the tech rehearsal left.  Tech rehearsals I can do… they have that mystery about them to the actors, so they sit still and wait to be told what to do.  Not like in college, where everyone knew that the actors in a tech rehearsal could be replaced by puppets and no one would care a bit.  Here they still think it’s sort of a really big process that they are a part of.  I’m happy that it still holds that power.  I can get the rehearsal finished in time.

So, yesterday was pretty big, eh?  Easter.   Daylight Savings.  Our two-year anniversary.  My birthday.  The festival started.

I am a little bitter they took an hour away from my birthday this year.  It made my surprise birthday party shorter (thanks again for throwing it.  I really was surprised… I knew there was a reason you were making me stare at the dumpsters… and acting all weird at the show…)

I’m so excited about the Furby’s that are on their way to our house.  I’m sure Taylor and Lillith are going to hate them.  I really appreciate all you guys getting together to get them for me.

I’m also stoked about birthday week.  A whole week of getting random birthday presents?  What else could a gal ask for?

That and I can’t wait for our new chair to get here this week.  I’m glad we bought that together.  I’m glad we didn’t talk ourselves out of it.  Right now I picture long evenings curled around its big soft arms, falling asleep in its warm embrace, my feet just kicked out on the ottoman…

I’m sure in three months all I’ll see in my head is the image of Weldon knocking over an ashtray into the seat over and over and over.

Maybe we should have sprung for that extra stain protection insurance….

Speaking of insurance, I saw an accident on my way to work this morning.  The truck in front of me slammed right into the car in front of him.  They both pulled over immediately, so I didn’t know if I was supposed to as well since I saw it, or if I should just go right on.

An argument took place.  Not on the street, mind you, but in my head.


We should stop.

I don’t think we are supposed to stop if they are taking care of it.

What if truck guy lies and says it was car guy’s fault?

Well, I really didn’t see car guy–

Whatever, you so saw truck guy not even slow down until he was right behind car guy.  Totally truck guy’s fault.

Well, what if we stop and we’re the only one’s to stop and then they get all mad and pull out guns and shoot each other and then shoot me?

This is Austin.

It’s getting to be a dangerous place.  If Eric was in the car, I’d stop.

Well, it’s the end of the feeder road, are we getting on the highway or pulling over?

If we stop, we might help someone who’s getting screwed.

Which would be the proper, civil thing to do

But if we kept going we’d actually make it to work on time.


Not kidding.  We’re making great time.  We’re beating the accident traffic.

You should have mentioned that earlier.


Besides, if there’s some sort of problem you know they will put up a sign that says, “If you saw blah, blah, blah, call blah, blah, blah.”


Did you get the license plate of truck guy?

Something with an “X” and a “4”

Great.  Let’s go.

So, you know, I kind of feel guilty this morning, but I got here on time and all, and I’m not falling asleep in my coffee like I thought I would be after last night.

I couldn’t sleep last night at all.

I think I wanted it to always be our two year anniversary.  It was so nice, spending the afternoon with you, going to dinner, thinking about our life up until now, having other people say nice things to us…

I really enjoyed just being with you.

I always do.

I don’t think I thought this festival thing through.  Tonight if we go to the after party we won’t get home until after one.  That means we will get less and less sleep as the week progresses…  it’s just one week, though.  I can probably manage, right?

But what if my truck guy/ car guy karma catches up with me and since I didn’t stop then I have a horrible week?  I can’t think about it now.  I made a quick decision, and maybe it was the wrong one, and maybe it was the right one… ick.  It’s too late.  It really is.

Sorry I was so mean to you this morning.  I hate it when the alarm isn’t set to play music.  The sound of the alarm itself makes my spine shrivel and my stomach drop.  I hate it.  It’s too loud and too shrill.  I’m sorry I told you that you had lost clock privileges forever.  I’m sorry I climbed over you to turn off the alarm.  I think I hurt your knee.  Really sorry.

Love.  Two years, all that.  Don’t forget.

Break a leg on your show tonight.  I’m very proud of you.  I know you’ll do well.

And don’t be mad that some people didn’t call for my birthday.  It’s not everyone’s job to remember.  I think it’s really sweet that you get so protective over me mentally.  Like you want to shield my brain from hearing anyone say anything bad about me, or be able to erase things that hurt me before.  I’ve never really had someone like that before.  It’s a nice feeling– being protected emotionally.

Not that I live in a shell or anything, but that I feel no matter how hurt I get, you’ll be there to show me what’s so good right in front of me that I was overlooking.

I’m so glad we met two years ago.  I’m so glad we fell in love.  I think taking you to the health center when you twisted your ankle was the smartest move I’ve ever made.  I knew I was making a friend.  I had no idea I was making a partner.  A team.

And maybe I should have skipped the drive to Houston and just went to see The Graduate with you.

Maybe I should have kissed you sooner.

Maybe I should have noticed you in my voice class before I did.

Then I could have had more time.  I want more time.  I want more memories.

And damn, you make me laugh.  Thanks for letting me share my stories with the world.  Not everyone would be so understanding.  I’m sorry they brought the nose hair trimmer out of the bathroom at the party the other night.  I’m sorry everyone knew the story.  I forget that not everyone who reads this lives in California or Canada.  There’s a lot that read it that we see every day.

I’m wearing the pants you hate today.  The ones you think make me look like a marching band line leader.  I’m wearing them because it is my birthday week, and I am going to get away with as much as I can.  I may just wear that poofy ponytail holder that you hate every day.  I might hold Taylor in a cuddle until he just hates having fur.  I may watch Grease three times.

Or, I may get my ass back to work and then go do all the festival shit I have to do.  I told you this festival was big.

In fact, I’m sure I’m supposed to be faxing something somewhere right now.

Have a good day, my little computer geek, and I can’t wait to see what presents I get today.

(oh– we need trash bags.  One of us should pick them up on the way home.  Do people buy trash bags during their birthday week?  I don’t know, it’s all so new to me…)


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