Z.

I've been feeling better.  Losing weight. Discarding some bad habits and states of mind. It won't always be this great.  But it's been a load off. Looking back on some old garb hanging in the back of my closet, I found an old friend.  For an ancient red hoodie, it still looked okay.  This one had been with me a long time. There is one small hole, and the seam of one of the two front pouch pockets is separating.  But otherwise, suitable.  It fits well again.  It has that familiar feel, and a baked-in ease to it.  Those times weren't always great.  But it's nice to be able to look back from a distance.  I prefer the zipper hoodies to the pull-over ones. There's really no comparison.  I zipped it up and wore it out last weekend, running errands.  I found myself entering a kind of strange mental niche all the sudden.  Not bad.  Better than bad.  It was good.  When I parked and stepped out of my car, I looked up ...

You were in my dream last night. The same dream I always have, though details change. I decide to tell you how I feel about you. Have always felt about you. But as the dream goes on, the way we are makes it so it doesn't need to be said. We go together, talking and smiling. We do the things that people do in their dreams.  Nothing makes sense, but it doesn't matter. We're together. The moment comes. We look at each other and share the same thought. I tell you without having to say it. And with a look, you know it, and tell me back. I wake up and realize all over again—it was just a dream. Somewhere, you're out there, unaware that I still wonder what it would be like. What if I had actually said it? Back when I had the chance. There were plenty of them. What if instead of smiling between unspoken words, I told you? A part of me always believed that I already knew what you would say back. I didn't.  So, I don't. They're just dreams.

One may never feel more vulnerable and untethered as your first day of high school.  Maybe your first night in prison comes close. First day of freshman year, at the teacher's instruction, the class drew our chairs into a great big circle, all of us facing inward. Some 20-30 of us all around, looking at one another, with the "get to know you" assignment of telling the class our name, our favorite school subject, and one story about ourselves.  "It can be a funny story," the teacher advised, "Or, if you're brave, it can even be a sad story. It's up to you." One by one, we each had our turn. Of course, new incoming high school students on their first days of their freshmen years, in a room full of their peers-- most of us strangers, still trying to establish where we would fit in the hierarchy of popularity-- would never dare to share a sad story about ourselves.  Like almost everyone else in class that morning, I must've told a "funny...

Beethoven's Rage Over a Lost Penny What one has thought so often yet never said so well. From Wikipedia : The "Rondo alla ingharese quasi un capriccio" in G major, Op. 129 (Italian for "Rondo in the Hungarian [i.e. gypsy] style, almost a caprice"), is a rondo for piano written by Ludwig van Beethoven. It is better known by the title Rage Over a Lost Penny, Vented in a Caprice (from "German: Die Wut über den verlorenen Groschen, ausgetobt in einer Caprice)". This title appears on the autograph manuscript, but not in Beethoven's hand, and has been attributed to his friend Anton Schindler. It is a favourite with audiences and is frequently performed as a showpiece. Despite the late opus number, the work's composition has been dated to between 1795 and 1798. Beethoven left the piece unpublished and incomplete; it was published in 1828 by Anton Diabelli, who obscured the fact that it had been left unfinished. The performance time runs between five a...