To Say A Goodbye

So I haven't been blogging much recently. As discovered the other night by those who ask, I usually only feel the urge to write when I feel tired, lonely, or depressed. It is safe to say that I have not felt such things for quite some time now. For me, the tantalizing emotional state of utter pain and sorrow becomes my askesis to initiate the writing process. Like Jonah in the whale, I am forced to spend endless amounts of time contemplating all that is meaningless and lost.

However, thirty three days ago I was made privy to the continual company of one Lori Kuepfer, ex-Amish, current "qt_pie", Outdoor Leadership, God-rockin' babe in who's presence my fears and depression shudder. They flee, taking with them common sense and my manhood. I would now best describe myself as a little school girl, complete with plaid skirt and knee high socks, giddy for the chance to learn enough English to comprehend the Power Puff girls.

These past few weeks have been hard weeks, as final projects and final exams have arisen together to unite against my anti-stress devices. It was a long and drawn out, arduous battle that climaxed yesterday with two difficult finals who's end result could only be comparable with that of the first time I attempted to make Kraft's Dinner, who really should make his own. Edible, digestible, and given the circumstances passable, but certainly not pretty, and most assuredly not tasty.

Kindly note the mention of circumstance, in many other dimensions known as laughable excuses. The night previous (Wednesday) was the last night I was going to see the aforementioned Lori, and it was this same night that her brother was to be sleeping on my couch, beginning at 11PM, the prime studying hour for all of us that wish to merely cram short-term notes into our minds seconds before they expire in order to convincingly fool the professor who so desperately wishes to see our hearts and minds changed. Of course that information was not made known to me until approximately 11:15PM, when I returned from walking Lori to her house, where I picked up Arlan, her brother's things for the next morning.

One might ask why he, the brother, did not accompany us to her place of dwelling, but surely that question could be answered by anyone who's seen two love-sick rabbits scurrying from prying flashlights beneath the bushes. One may be curious, but one does not wish to interfere. As we've only been dating for almost five weeks, a three week separation seems to have no less than the word catastrophe stamped impressionably upon it. We walked slowly, gracefully, solemnly, through the dimly lit parking lot. We were hushed by the inevitable. We reached her door, I stepped inside briefly so that I might take up information for the contact procedures to be undertaken while this forced separation must occur. We spoke in timid, haltering tones, convincing ourselves that surely this would not be as long as it is perceived. I opened the door to leave, she followed me halfway out. I stood in the cold, dark, and windy night, feeling the rain hit the cement sidewalk behind me. She stood upon the frame of the door, two inches closer to my chin that usual. Standing close together, breaching the separation from interior to exterior, she rested her head upon my chest, her eyes downcast. I kissed the top of her hair and sighed softly. We murmured unrepeatable loveliness, and I stepped back and away, into the night. Six steps away from her door the urban hardened ground turns sharply away from her sight, and I step into the dark.

I pause, call out to Lori, and go back and get her brother's dufflebag which I forgot. This time when I leave, it isn't as epic.

But I'm still sad.