I am a miser of my memories of you / and will not spend them

    Circling. I have this image of myself in my mind, walking slowly around a small spot—in a park or something like that, neither private nor public, hands clasped behind me and head turned down toward my feet, like a monk. Deep in thought. Turning, constantly, always moving but not really getting anywhere. Working hard, but maybe for nothing?

    I don't know where my mind is. I know where my brain is—still stuck in this wretched headache, a combination of physical (making real progress at PT, but the drawback is that, like all exercise, it hurts afterward) and mental (work, blah blah; money, ditto; some travel and odd practical concerns to consider over the next couple of weeks) and emotional. There's some heavy stuff that I've got to work out. An offhand decision is at the point where it can be revised or, apparently, made permanent. Another circumstance that's seemingly arisen without any conscious choice on my part is growing out of control and is starting to get a little scary. And in 62 hours and 45 minutes (give or take) I'm facing my fate, again, with heart in my throat and stomach in my shoes. Do I go in balls to the wall (that expression of 'confidence' a nod to Steve-from-across-the-street), or keep reminding myself to wear the shell so I don't need to try and find it later, when it's too late?

    All this brain-winding is revealing itself in an evening wasted in a sadly telling way: Facebook-searching, and some Google-searching, of Men From My Past. A virtual Where Are They Now of the chapters of my life so far. The results? Well, most would probably be alarmed to know how easily they are found, particularly since their names aren't generally very common and they're not famous (the zillionaire is an exception - and there's really no point in "stalking" someone who added me to his RSS feed, right?). A couple have locked things down a little better since the last time I poked in their direction; Brian from Mad-town, for instance, is now nothing but a thumbnail photo on the Web. Toby is now FB friends with Ulysses, and I'm a little disturbed to realize that I still think he's good looking, even though he's a real waste of oxygen. Brian-the-Army-guy is teaching at a school district so far south as to practically be in Mexico; I'd imagine it rivals the tip of Florida for the southernmost part of the continental U.S. My M.A. thesis advisor is now teaching at the University of North Texas, which puts him only about three hours away from P.Bear, and four from The Chef. I guess it's easier to do all this online wandering and poking around than it is to address the distance that I feel between me and not only the past but the present. The future isn't even worth considering (at the moment).

    I know it's just a phase. Just a familiar path into which I, to some extent, choose to fall. But I'm getting kind of weary and wouldn't mind seeing something else for a while.

[title quotation by Witter Bynner, "Coins"]