Friday compressed more emotions into a single day than I thought humanly possible. I overslept. Woke up at 11:00. I kicked myself for it, but thought that at least it was better than 3:00. Or 5:00. I had an urgent email from the Petitions Office, asking me to call them immediately. My blood ran cold. But I called anyway. It turned out that they just didn't have a correct phone number for me, and I had forgotten to sign my petition. I told Coralee at the office there that I'd be right over. It snowed about an inch in the time it took me to walk from my apartment to the ASB. Visibility was nil. It was the closest to a whiteout I'd yet seen in Utah. I was pleased about being proactive. I was taking charge, taking responsibility. The truth will set you free. That's a nice change from how I'd been feeling before. You can't handle the truth. I arrived at the ASB with my hair entirely white, then entirely wet. I need to get a jacket that's not leather for weather like that. Coralee was a bit surprised to see me so soon, but we settled everything and it was a nice feeling. The snow was still driving down, and I had no desire to walk in it. So I went to the TMCB, and headed for the computer labs. I was locked out of the system. I'd half-expected it, because they're usually pretty good about having active accounts correspond to people actively taking CS classes. But it was a bit of a blow to my morale. My account's been active for five years on those systems, due to... well, it was manipulation of the system and asking one of my friends who is an admin to help me out with a problem. The solution to which left me with an account that never expired. I pulled out my laptop, which I'd packed into my bookbag. There was room; there were no books taking up the space. I got onto someone's random wireless access point that had been left wide open. Surprisingly enough, the wireless coverage in the Talmage building sucks. You'd think the CS department would have done something about that. Maybe it's due to their ongoing feud with OIT. I read my webcomics, talked to a few friends, and realized that I was just going to be a wreck until I spoke with Miriam. I've been thinking about what this conversation was going to be like for weeks. There was a lot I needed to say, and a lot I wanted to ask. I needed to settle my account, right some wrongs, make what amends I could. There were so many things I wanted to talk about. And I feared it would be my last chance to talk, really talk, with this girl I love. She'd come over in a bit, and give me a call first. I went to my apartment and did something for a few hours. I don't recall what. She came, and we talked. My roommates had the graciousness to make themselves scarce. We had a heart-to-heart. We spoke of what was, and what is. What might have been, and what may yet be. I came close to tears. I only recall one time that I have actually cried. It was when my grandfather died. It was my first semester at BYU. I was 17. He was my hero, my friend, the standard against which I measure myself. I didn't cry when I found out. I wasn't until a week later, when we finally lowered his casket into the ground, that I found the tears. Only one aspect of the conversation do I wish to discuss here. Miriam stated that she has been surprised by how many secrets men hold onto. I said that surely women have their secrets too. But no, she said. Nothing of the magnitude she has heard of from the men in her life. I had no answer. I've been pondering her statement since, and I think I'm beginning to see why it is. Men don't cry. From the time they are born, the expectation of strength is instilled in them. Men don't cry. Men don't admit weakness. Men don't worry about petty things like emotions. A male who does is somehow less than a man. A coward. A wuss. It is one of the great lies of our civilization. It is the idea that than a man who is less than perfect, less than strong, is no man at all. He emasculates himself. Men don't cry. But they want to. They want to be able to tell someone their fears and secrets. They want to be able to let go of that burden. They want to have someone to entrust with their fragility. Two can bear more than one alone. Men collect secrets, like a whale collects barnacles. Waiting for a chance to scrub themselves clean. And so we talked. We said what we needed to say, and asked what needed asking. I felt extraordinarily blessed. I asked for an hour of her time. She gave me three. Matt came to pick her up around 10:30. She and I had supposed the three of us might find some people and do some thing. When I saw him though, I quickly made my exit, stage right. He looked like he had seen a ghost. Somewhere inside me a switch flipped. I went from painful, drawn out introspection to chipper, almost manic extroversion. I went to dinner with friends. I had Dr. Pepper. I was glad for their company. It was what I needed. I arrived home around midnight. I tiptoed past my roommate and his fiancee watching a movie in the darkened living room. After hearing snippets of dialogue I realized it was The Brothers Grimm. I crawled into bed. Then I wept, bitterly.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the worldexcerpt from W.B. Yeats' The Second Coming
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