of late, the thing i enjoy most in the universe is being closed up in a car with friends.  being closed up in a car on the way there or back, the swoosh of the tires and the rain on the windshield mingling with the field mice on the car stereo.  because it always rains on these trips; slightly more than halfway through the drive the wipers begin to keep awkward time with the music.  as i sit curled up in the backseat (or watching the road from the driver’s seat), listening to everyone else in the car worry aloud about traffic and schedules and making it there on time, i silently wish that we’ll never get there, that we’ll just keep driving along until sometime after our legs fall asleep but before we become restless and annoyed, or run out of things to talk about.

it’s the apartness, i think, of being closed up in a small car on the highway.  we’re somewhere, together, but really we’re not anywhere at all.  it’s wonderful.

except for those times (which are few and far between), what i really want is   s p a c e.   physical and mental and   s p a c e.   friday night we were all crowded close together around the coffee table in ryan’s small apartment, playing trivial pursuit, and i couldn’t breathe.  “there’s no fucking space in here!” i said.  i jumped up and ran outside to pace back and forth on the walkway.  sunday night at rob’s, i stood up mid-conversation and walked down the stairs out of his apartment.  i walked faster as i went down the driveway, and ran out to stand right in the middle of the street, alone.  i looked up at the clouds and over at the glowing sign from blockbuster video and the rockin’ robin guitar place on the other side of the street, all of it far enough away to make me comfortable.  i leaned against one wall of the guitar shop, glaring at rob’s house a hundred yards away, daring anyone to come after me.  nobody did, and i was glad.

it doesn’t make sense, any of it.