Great. I fucked it all up again. Just when I start to feel good, just when I feel like things are looking up. Just when there’s so much to look forward to, when the biggest feel-good holiday of the whole friggin year is barreling towards us. I fuck it up again.
	I haven’t talked to her in almost two days, and the phone rings. I know it must be her. I pick up and say hi, and she sounds happy and I begin telling her what I’ve been up to the last few days, explain why we haven’t talked, explain that I made promises to hang out with Jess Bassett, that Leah wanted to see Narnia with me, that today I made an appointment to see my senior project mentor in the morning so that I could be home in time to see my favorite uncle Russell the second time this entire year. She responds that today was the last time she would be at home alone for the next month or six. Today was the last time we could be alone together. Today she was alone all day, and she missed me. When I try to explain, again, that I was very busy, and wanted to see her, she says “Oh, I was just giving you a bad time.” Like it was just a joke. She chuckles half heartedly. There’s nothing funny about it.
	I don’t like my Senior project. I don’t like it at all. I should never have gotten myself into such a shitty project. I don’t know why I just didn’t choose to do something I’m really interested in, like movie editing, or graphic art design, or music, anything but painting my damn car. I like my car the way it is. I don’t want to paint it. The moment I have a nice paint job on that car I’m going to run it into a ditch, or worse. And I’m not trying to be pessimistic at all. I know it’s the truth. My age group is probably the most likely of any in the world to get into a crash. My careless, spaced out nature ensures it. I don’t want to stand around at B&R’s Corvallis body-shop for three hours while Sara’s at home, lonesome. It bothers me like water bothers my cat, Scooter, who is also pouting at me because it’s raining outside.
	My uncle Russell is great. He’s probably the most interesting person over fifty I’ve ever known. Most interesting over forty, in fact. He’s into holographic pictures, ancient rock art (see his website rockartplanet.com), and the internet. I’ve got some great stories about him. It’s unfortunate, therefore, that I only see him once or twice a year. And now, I’m thinking about Sara and I’m not really even paying attention to him at all.
	How can a little bad mood do this to me? How is it that the person in the world I love more than anything, ever, can make me feel so down just by pouting at me over the phone and hanging up a scant four minutes after calling? How is it that I can’t think of anything to cheer me up, two days from Christmas and I feel like shit and it’s raining outside and there’s no light shining through the cobwebs of memory in my head.
	I’ve had enough of this back and forth, love me – leave me alone – come back, I’ve had enough of what distance and stress is doing to us. I want to be with her. Once and for all. I want to get away with her, away from all the things that make her and me feel like shit. I know it’s not her fault or mine when we feel down, it’s so easy to pin blame and be stupid and angry. It’s too hard to go on hurting and laughing and hurting again…
	That’s what love is sometimes. It’s bringing some flowers, and leaving with tears. Or bringing some tears and leaving with flowers. It’s a big mess of emotion that is always changing but always the same. In the short run I can get pissed off about these stupid things, and then I can lean back in my chair, stop typing for a minute, and actually read over what I’m saying and realize that in a few days I’ll be happy again. I’ll regret writing all this because I’ll feel good and I won’t want to bring myself down to this state of stress and loneliness again. I know that in the long run I won’t ever stop loving her, that this too will pass, and time will move on.

	Wow. I feel so much better knowing I’m more predictable than the energizer bunny. Seriously though, this helped a lot. When I actually vocalize, or in this case wordalize (he he) what I’m thinking it seems to help bring me out of a depression. I can easily identify what my problem is and zap it when it’s all right there in writing.
	What I can’t do is make her feel better, right now. When she feels bad I can’t make her feel better when I’m right there beside her. I can’t make her feel better if I tell her she’s smart and capable and beautiful, or if I bring her flowers, or tell jokes. She always drags herself out of sadness. I respect that. It’s nice knowing that she doesn’t need me to save her from the dregs of modern life. At the same time, I feel useless. I feel like I don’t have much say in the happiness of the person who is more influential to my own happiness than any other person, hamster, tree, rainbow, you-name-it on earth.
	I’m always trying to lead, but I’m a follower by nature. I need to just stop worrying and let things slide. I need to accept the words of Neil Davidson once and for all:
	“Dude, shut up and be happy.”

James “Muffin” Crockett

Sara, truthfully, you make me happy. I just hope one day I can figure out how to return the favor to you. Flowers aren’t enough to repay what you’ve given me.