et lux perpetua luceat eis

Hm, I kind of forgot that I had this and that I'd written a really cool bio.

I need to start updating again.

You fit in with everyone else, but were willing to step outside it to see me, and willing to go out on a limb to say so. You knew the right thing to say to get my mouthiest camper to back off me. You had calm, and great hair. I think you would fit in anywhere.

You were good-humored and patient with my lack of patience for the Catholic Church; you engaged me where I was. You were young and full of energy. You didn't make religion sound like a chore, and you gave sermons that I don't remember putting me off... too much. I wonder if you'd be surprised with me now, or proud.

My best friend in high school. Edgier, lost in worlds I didn't understand, smart as hell, blase about unbelievable things. The spelling bee brought us together, the Beatles kept us together, college took us apart, and in the meantime you were as much as I could have hoped for. I saved your life (maybe), and you saved mine (maybe).

I meant to change everything with this journal. To get back to the basics of journaling and lose the things that have plagued me on LJ: a friends-of list full of dead journals, difficulty meeting new people, clicking on interesting people's journals and finding they haven't updated since 2007, feeling like the site or maybe my involvement has jumped the shark. Maybe I just don't need an online journal the way I used to even a year ago, clinging to it in a need to get the feelings out before they destroy me, needing to feel like I'm not alone. Maybe I'm just too placid for this kind of stuff anymore. Maybe I'm letting myself be distracted by the Tour de France and falling into the inertia of spending all my time on LJ anyway and just crossposting all these pissy little vignettes that nobody seems interested in, including me. Maybe I don't have anything to say anymore. Maybe I don't have anything definite to say anymore, maybe it won't go into essay format and I seem to get stuck in one way of writing or another pretty much no matter what I do.

I intended a fresh start. It didn't happen.

Maybe the same as always it's easy to get caught in the inertia.

My goal is not to.

Mild-mannered and somewhat conservative, but with surprising layers. You grew beyond the narrow way you were raised to look at life from a different perspective, and learned to be true to yourself. We read parables together and discussed premarital sex. You never fail to be understanding and your optimism is unflagging.

You had problems and when stressed they were barely under your control. I couldn't give you what you needed, and I wished I could. The world failed you in how they saw you, and I never was sure how you saw yourself. Afterwards, I wasn't sure what would set you off, because I knew I couldn't fix it.

A whole group of us had an instant connection and talked for hours. It was preview day; I was a freshman admissions host, you were a prospective student who stayed with me. You were smart, funny, and fun, but picked presumably somewhere else for college, and I never saw you again.

Older than our mom, our only adult babysitter when we were kids, you were laid-back but one of few who could keep us in line. You made me want to be your friend. You gave me a copy of an E.B. White book, and later sent me a card for no particular reason. I miss you.

I thought you were cute and swooned over you. You turned out to be really immature and obnoxious. We were 12, so this shouldn't have come as such a surprise. You had great hair though. I freaked out when the music teacher implied I might like you.

I forget if you could sing, or if you had blue eyes.

[n.b. I wrote "Paul B" in my spreadsheet and I can't remember if this is actually who I intended to write about or if I meant somebody else, but I can't think of any other Paul B of any import so you get this guy. Maybe later I'll remember it was really another Paul B.]