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It's one of those weird nights for me. Do you ever get like this?

I don't want to be by myself, but I don't want to see anyone (which is good I guess because I don't have a phone and if I did, who would I call?). I've been working diligently on a paper all day, and now I don't want to do it anymore. Putting it off until tomorrow won't matter, so I'm not pressured. I've got headphones on to block out the noise of other people's music, but I don't really want to listen to anything. I'm not tired, and I don't want to sleep. But I don't want to read or do anything else that involves being awake. I don't want to sit and I don't want to stand or walk.

I can't figure out what the feeling is. I'm exactly halfway between climbing up the walls and perfectly content, but I have no idea what to do with myself. I get like this sometimes, and it's difficult even for me to describe exactly the feeling. It's not just an England thing, either. I'm like this sometimes no matter where I am. In Raleigh, my solution is to go to a coffeeshop (usually Third Place) and sit in the corner and people watch. It's the perfect blend between being alone and being with people. I'm there in the midst of others, but I don't have to interact with them. It's the comfort of community with none of the work. I think this is why Panera is always so full. Fellowship without the fuss.

I don't really know what this means or says about me or people in general. We want benefits without the cost. It's not that we want a good benefit-to-cost ratio; we want that thing to go to infinity. Make costs zero and no matter what the benefit is, you get infinity. We're consumerists to the core.

Right now I'm reading Daniel, and consumerism didn't register in that guy's brain. "Keep your gifts for yourself or give your rewards to someone else; however I will read the inscription." Daniel was totally out of control, and the thing that maybe I most love is that he was respected by everyone and oversaw the whole empire. He wasn't some ultra-pious religious freak. He understood literature and government and languages and God gave him wisdom. He was a bizarre kind of prophet considering the usual Old Testament types who lived in caves and married prostitutes. This guy had to be rich as crap and served something like 5 kings and was one of the top rulers of one of the mightiest empires ever to exist on planet earth. But he always worshiped God. Through God's use of him, several kings of Babylon were saved.

This is a disjointed and rambling post. Welcome to my brain. It's even worse up there.

More thoughts on Daniel may be forthcoming. Until them love each other, enjoy friendships, be drunk with God, remember your freedom.

"All the inhabitants of the earth are accounted as nothing, But He does according to His will in the host of heaven and among the inhabitants of earth; And no one can ward off His hand Or say to Him, 'What have you done?'" ~Daniel 4:35

on the way to buy milk

The cold is biting. It always is but somehow I forget every time I've been inside for a while. I look up at the cold black sky. No stars. A crumpled pack of cigarettes is somewhere in my jacket. Where did I put them? I find them with the lighter in my inner pocket. Three left. I pull one out and try to light it. The wind has other plans. Huddled in the corner next to my door and using both hands, I get it lit and walk out into the swirling night air. It's not long after dinner, and I'm only going to the store to get some milk, but the cold and dark and wind make it feel later. It is quiet at first, but by the time I reach the gate I can hear a trumpet playing lazily nearby. The music changes volume and pitch because of the wind and echoes off the building behind me. I stop and listen and lose track of time, cigarette forgotten in one hand, the other on the gate handle. For a moment I'm mesmerized by the ghostly sound of the echoing trumpet--mournful and alone in the cold evening.

A cold gust brings me back. I open the gate and step through, put the cigarette in my lips and zip my coat all the way to my chin to keep out the cold. When I round the corner the street is empty except for a couple parked cars. The trumpet is no longer audible; it's lost somewhere behind me. I survey the road for a second then begin walking up it at a pace just fast enough to show an onlooker I'm cold. One hand holding my cigarette, the other jammed in the pocket of my jeans keeping my keys and a couple coins company.

Strange noises come drifting down the empty street. I can't tell what they are, and I glance over my shoulder to see if I notice anything. Nothing but the wind which blows the sound away for a moment. When it sails back it is the tinny music of an ice cream truck that I cannot see. I stop, watching the end of the street to see if it will pass, listening to the busted-speaker sound it makes. A car on the street behind me turns me away. I watch it pass and forget the ice cream music and my thoughts about how poor a night it is for ice cream. I puff on the cigarette, head down to keep the warmth in my jacket if that is possible, and walk on.

The store isn't far, not even far enough to finish a cigarette. I always forget that. This road is busier, and I watch the traffic hurry from here to there, on the way home or on the way out, to see friends or family or lovers. I reach the door of the little store where I always buy milk. After one last drag on the cigarette, I flick it into the street. Along with it go all the strange thoughts and sounds of my walk here, and I enter the store.