blacker than black

Winter's short days always catch me off guard. It was only 5:30 and the last rays of the sun streamed through the blinds behind me, highlighting thin strips of my monitor in a kingly golden orange. Was the day over already? I stretched and rubbed my eyes, my body seeming to suddenly catch up with my mind's realization. A whole day spent here, singing in my head and passing the time, working and waiting. I spend a lot of time doing those things these days.

Pressing my hands against the almost icy glass, I leaned toward the outside, the 13-story plummet to the ground looming up behind the barrier of the window. One of the things I love about Texas is the spectacular sunsets. The north of the state is flat and flat and flat as far as you'd like, and 13 stories up you never miss the sun setting. Today a line of clouds caught and manipulated the dying light, rich orange rippling over the upside-down ocean of its underside, playing deep blue shadows and bright shocks of pink through the waves. I imagined I could see tiny ships sailing through, their sun fading steadily upward into the horizon to reveal the starry sky of Dallas city lights above. I thought of them steering by those stars, navigating to some unknown continent in the sky by the positions of the Reunion Tower and the clusters of outlying suburbs.

Before I knew it the sun was gone. I could hardly see the clouds at all, but by the absence of stars could tell the were still there. I wished the little upside-down ships and their crews safe passage through those dark waves and shut the office door behind me.

ones and zeros

Comforting someone who has suffered a loss is the hardest thing to do. They've come to you seeking some sense of understanding, but all you can give is a sympathetic nod while you search around inside trying to remember the last loss you suffered and if anything could have helped you then. When it comes down to it, the closest you can come to helping is just listening, since what words of encouragement you may speak ring hollow even to yourself.

It's even harder over the wire. A message popped up on my screen two nights ago that put me into that kind of situation. Just a frowning emoticon sat there, prompting my inquiry, probing to discover if anyone was actually there on my side to listen. Snagged by the hook and somewhat bored, I responded with the awaited inquiry. His friend of 18 years had passed on the night before, bowing out quietly and without complaint .

The internet widens the gulf that is already so daunting between human beings. For all the connections available, sometimes it only barely suffices the minimum conditions of interaction. The range of options is just a false front.

I read his messages, which came broken with large silences in-between. The chat window prompted responses, some way to know that his words didn't just pass through unseen, so I did what I could to be there.

a cartoon character's fiery demise

A new year snuck in this week.

Without cable or any sort of reception for local channels, we just waited until the neighbors cheered to ring in another 365 day trip around the sun. There was champagne (or just sparkling wine because it was not manufactured in Champagne) and we stood on the porch while I smoked three cigarettes first thing on New Year's. I don't make those quitting kinds of resolutions.

Inside we reflected on the past several years, eating the kind of potato chips that have a rippled surface with French onion dip - exceptional when your tastebuds are being affected by just enough sparkling wine and beers. What a fantastic thing for us to be able to sit there at the table, drinking and talking and eating. What a marvel in the first place that we ever all met and still know each other. Out of all the billions of people in the world, there we all were, people all over the city and state and timezone celebrating with their own groups.

When we were done and everyone had left, I went to bed to stare at the ceiling and allowed my mind to wander.