By the way, it's 12:11 AM, March 30, 2003 now. I just haven't said anything here for three hours.
A lot of people are moving places and doing things. It bothers me to be able to say that I'm not. I'm not moving at all. I have nothing to embark on. I have no higher goal.
Do I have a higher goal?
I want to start a band. I want to learn php. I want to equate physics and urban infrastructure. I want to play volleyball. I want to go to college. I want to have power. I want to operate computers. I want to become a programmer. I want to be an artist.
I have higher goals.
I have an anecdote. A story to share, something I very rarely do because frankly, either I don't interact with people enough, or I don't notice what's important enough to say.
I got a ride home with Eric today. Varsity volleyball Eric.
He didn't know I'd considered quitting volleyball next year. Hell, he didn't know I considered quitting this year. No one does.
He was making cracks about driving, and I was returning those cracks. And how he's keeping people alive by waking them up at 11 in the morning. He started talking about how high I could jump, how I need to work on my fast twitch muscles. About how I need to hit like Colin does, but not completely. And about how in freshman year of college I should be all coordinated (something I am not now) and therefore a very good volleyball player.
I nodded in agreement, and added a little bit. But mainly, I was a little shocked at a few things.
That he assumed I would be playing volleyball after this year.
That he assumed I would be playing volleyball in college.
That he thought I could.
So I'm giving serious thought to playing Varsity volleyball. Maybe I'll start going to conditioning. I have the drive now. Can I keep my drive until then?
He dropped me off by the Jefferson Park McDonalds. After getting a Coke and walking to the 68 dropoff, I wondered.
I can't do that in real life.
I would never.
I would think about it, and I would think about it. I would say, I'm going to do this, and never do it. I would come so close.
Can I do it?
I put my bag on the floor and found a trash can. I leaned on the wall.
Can I? Could I make myself?
The bus coming in was an 85. Central bus. I'm safe.
Can I?
Could I?
Voom. I'm off. I'm sprinting down the wall, down the pavement at the Jefferson Park bus station. There's a bus driver waiting for a bus on the right, 3 buses and about four passengers waiting for buses in the heated area, but otherwise it's empty. I'm running. My legs are going. Stop, reverse, run. I'm running. Running like I can. Because I can. I can run. It isn't just my imagination. I can make myself run.
I stopped. I leaned against the glass. I did. That's a good habit.
I wonder.
I couldn't make myself do it a second time, could I?
Could I?
Voom.
There, touch, back, stop. I've just run two sprints down Jefferson Park.
The bus came briefly. I got off almost-late after losing myself in a cellphone game. I caught it just in time.
I was wearing one contact. It was an odd feeling, but after spending 5 minutes on one contact and 45 minutes on the other, in vain, I thought I would just give up. I could half see. The bus signs were visible. But they weren't visible.
I got off the bus, crossed, walked down Canfield.
I wonder...
Could I?
I burst, and then stop.