Faded From the Winter

Let's picture the rest of the day going very well: I get home from work with a finished draft of my syllabus, call Dell and my phone actually works well in my apartment and the Dell person is very nice and helps me to fix my computer right away. Whatever is wrong with the big toe on my left foot fixes itself and I can go to the gym and feel better about myself. I drive to the city and use my VIP ticket, which I will pick up at will call with absolutely no problems, to go in and have a lengthy discussion with Ben Gibbard which results in us swapping phone numbers/e-mail addresses and we stay in close contact and he offers me a really cool job for after I graduate, and I meet all sorts of cool people through this friendship (including Colin Meloy!!!!). So, here's hoping.

I just wrote this poem/song and maybe I like it, but then again maybe I don't. I don't think I have a title yet.

that one time you gave me
an upside down umbrella
and I've been collecting
rain ever since.
I reach my hand in, so
I can always feel a pulse
and my hand's been a
shriveled prune for days now.
you take off my glasses
when you're in the driver's seat
and I'm left trying to
distinguish between all the distortions
coming through the window.

I'll read up on everything
you've ever done and
never feel better.
I'll ignore your presence
and not run very far
I'm pulled back by your tether.

You'll then leave me behind
the wheel, the speed always
increasing, though it's true
the airbag has never failed.
I try to be a boyscout, always
prepared and end up tying a
string of knots with hands
that won't stay idle.
all the time now I'm keeping
an eye onthe clouds, noting
any changes in color and shape
but I still venture out
whenever it starts to pour.



And then I suppose repeat the little chorus part if it's a song.