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Okay! I did it! I wrote a random email to an old friend. Actually, Anthony is one of the few things/ people I remember off the top of my head about middle school. Well, besides the building burning down in 7th grade. Or was it 6th? sigh. I remember Ms. Betz's cheek being soft too, and powdery with blush. But soft like an old woman, not soft and firm like a young person's cheek. why was I touching her cheek anyway? Was I on her lap? Or was she leaning over me at some point during group work (aka: let's get the answers from Lisa because she seems to know them. Uh, yeah....right.) I think I remember a kid named Dennis too. We sat in a group with 4 desks together near the door. He was short adn tried to act tough, but I could make him laugh. Was that before or after we switched seats and I became part of the city of "Sendai" during a Japanese sociology game where you decided whether or not to grow wheat or move your army or go to war. There was a big map of Japan on the wall to this effect with different colored thumbtacks. We were Sendai. I think there might have been an Osaka, and there should have been a Tokyo, but I can't be sure. We are talking about the Idaho educational system and small details like capitols (and good grammer, u-hem, case in point) are sometimes left out.

My mother sent me all my yearbooks from 6th grade to 12th. They were in the heavy box during my recent move. That's where I've been all this time, you know. Moving. and going backwards: packing, paying brokers, saving, planning, hoping, yelling at the neighbors, plugging ears. Thats the order. backwards. the new bar downstairs opened up for a small yet loud party: the last straw. the welfare state, otherwise known as my neighbors, took all the things I didnt want: my old TV, my dresser, queen boxspring and frame, old clothes, knickknacks, and other crap that gets installed into your life that you dont really need or want to lift around when a move comes along. Even the 1/2 full, 3 month old bottles of red wine that I put out got taken! (I have to admit, it was a secret experiment.) In between the words of the backwards timeline, i've forgotten the most important part: building the loft. Dave and his father built it on the deck of their house in Jersey. In the hot 100 degree sun over an entire weekend. If that's not love, I dont know what is. They disassembled it, loaded it into a van, and the next weekend, trucked it to my place in Brooklyn and reassembled it while I entertained Dave's mom with a walk though Prospect Park and some overpriced diner food at Katinas. And then Dave helped me move. And let's not forget to mention that Dave did all this with a broken finger. He smashed it while helping me chop to size an enormo rose bush a few weeks back. this rose bush was so huge that it took up the whole width of my 13' garden and a good deal of the 20' length. It must have been 10' high. Such a monster that we discovered 2 trees underneath when we cut it back.

I am rambling. I am the last one in the office. I have completed my quest. It's time to leave the internet and go have a beer at the bar across from my apt. The bar that's quiet this time because I dont live on the street side of the building.