three in the morning productions

a sapling in winter

We were crossing campus toward Economics class while my sister complained about her boyfriend's random and forgetful outbursts of jealousy--a topic carried from when I arrived around noontime. We'd already missed Philosophy class because all the world's slowest drivers had been informed that I was in a great hurry and so they'd set themselves loose on the roads, having already calculated every possible shortcut and detour I would take thus turning me into a foul-mouthing-shrieking-moaning-very-very-angry-driver.

I was enjoying the sound of the snow crunching beneath our feet and was step-hopping airily to a jig that only I could hear. It was a jig in harmony with the voices of the surrounding collegians who were herding to their classes. And almost as fun as Jemima's avowal that as a Romantic, she had needs that could not be fulfilled in a relationship with a scatty ADD-afflicted partner. I promise, our conversations used to be profound and two-sided--well, at least two-sided. This time though, there was something I'd been hankering to talk to her about, and so being the skilled at subtly bringing up awkward issues type of person that I am, I casually interjected with, "So...! hypothetically speaking-- what would you say is my dating age range?" "Okay, cough it up, what's his name?" I didn't even have to glance sideways to know that there was that knowing, grinning expression on her face. A very exasperating big-sisterly-teasing type of grin, mind you. "Well no name in particular, just answer the question," I thrusted my hands in my pockets and hunched up my shoulders--seemingly against the cold, but I suppose it just made me appear more sheepish than I intended. "At least tell me how old he is." "Well, hypothetically speaking... I mean if I were just to randomly pull up an age--and... randomly it happens to be twenty-three--" "Kareeen!" My sister stopped abruptly and whirled to look at me with an indignant no-no face. "You're the one who told me age shouldn't matter," I protested huffily. "Yees--but you should wait until you're like twenty..." "What's the difference? You're twenty-two and we're intellectually matched. And then there's Mishael--he's twenty three and I'm sure you'll agree with me in that I'm definitely more mature than he is." "But there's a big difference between someone who's in high school and someone who's been through college," "I don't understand. Like what?" "Well...-- there just is!" I looked at her, baffled, then clamped my mouth into a scowl and trudged ahead in a huff. Jemima was immediately again at my side, gazing at me with perked interest, and I could guess the nature of her questions that did ensue: "Where did you meet him? Who is he? What's his name? Is he cute?" It was my turn to stop and glare at her, "I thought by now you would trust my judgment of other people." "Yes, yes but who is he? You met him online, didn't you?" There was a thrilled tone with her--one that suggested her Romantic self found it all interesting and cutesy. It was silly, but I felt like I had to justify myself. I clamped my mouth shut however and trudged ahead again. Only, Jemima was intrigued and pressed the matter, "Well, tell me about him!" Seeing that she couldn't get a word out of me in that teasing, scheming voice of hers, she tried the big-sisterly approach, "Kareen, it's just that, with older guys--well any guy for that matter, you've got to watch out." "You're telling me this? Look at the guy you're going out with, he steals stuffed heads of deers!" "Well, Phil is different! What about this guy, has he had lots of experience with women?" I made a sound in objection, but I knew she wouldn't let it alone. "We're the same--we crush from a distance. But he was in love with a girl..." and... that began that. Briefly touching a bit on our dancing around the topic of mutual admiration through poetic exchanges and the philosophical conversations and other little tidbits like the bad handwriting and the scarf. Yes, briefly. I twitched, in exasperation and discomfiture as Jemima gave a girlish laugh and exclaimed, "He sounds like a dreamer!"

When we returned to the apartment she brazenly announced the "internet affair" to Roommate Jeni and so now, there were two who were on match-making mode. And yea, it was frightening. I sat fidgeting and squirming as they interrogated, prodded and made gaga noises. First they cornered me into confessing that I was indeed considering sending him something for that horrible pseudo-holiday on the fourteenth, but hadn't the slightest clue what. "Send him flowers!" That was Jemima. I blinked at her, confused, "Send him flowers??" "Well, then knit him a scarf!" That was Jeni. "That's been done," I mumbled grudgingly. Then I was forced into the confession that I refused to swap pictures of me. Why? they asked, shocked. Because I looked horrible in pictures, that's why. And that was just something that was understood. But I guess onlt with me because at this Jemima dashed away and returned excitedly with a stash of my pictures, then began flashing them at me, "This one!" "NO!!" I backed away howling and pointing frenziedly at the monstrosity she held up, "I thought I told you to burn that!" "Well, what about this one?" "NOO! Not the skanky one!" "Ookay, then this one!" I shrieked in pain, "AAAH!! The braces! It blinds us! It blinds us!" Jemima's eyes lighted up, "Hey, you get your braces off Wednesday, right?" Jeni laughed, "Heeey, let's have a photo shoot." I looked feebly back and forth, from one to the other. Both had the same frightful glint in their eyes. I quietly put my head down on the table, traumatized by the deluge of horrific ideas and mumbled, "You can shoot me first."

But it was Roommate Jeni, and not Jemima, who I felt more at ease to talk to. She had experience with the online crushing scene but had cut off the connection when she began dating her boyfriend of now. And then I asked her why she hadn't at least kept up the friendship. I told her I would have, because the friendship really should have been the basis of their relationship. And I think that in my case, I'm not making any romantic committments (that word! that horrible word!), only we've just admitted that our feelings for each other are platonic--but a little more so than.

It used to be that I didn't give a damn about what anyone else thought, so long as I had Jemima's approval. When I brought it up to Jemima, I realized that for the first time--I wasn't seeking out her approval. And now, I'm sneezing and coughing and I believe I'm coming down with something so I shall end this -brief- tale here.

I wonder what he's doing right now. Well, I know what he's doing because he told me. Still... ah well, heh, silicon hearts, beat away.

01.24.03 - 11:45 p.m.

	a sapling in winter We were crossing campus toward Economics class while my sister complained about her boyfriend's random and forgetful outbursts of jealousy--a topic carried from when I arrived around noontime. We'd already missed Philosophy class because all the world's slowest drivers had been informed that I was in a great hurry and so they'd set themselves loose on the roads, having already calculated every possible shortcut and detour I would take thus turning me into a foul-mouthing-shrieking-moaning-very-very-angry-driver. I was enjoying the sound of the snow crunching beneath our feet and was step-hopping airily to a jig that only I could hear. It was a jig in harmony with the voices of the surrounding collegians who were herding to their classes. And almost as fun as Jemima's avowal that as a Romantic, she had needs that could not be fulfilled in a relationship with a scatty ADD-afflicted partner. I promise, our conversations used to be profound and two-sided--well, at least two-sided. This time though, there was something I'd been hankering to talk to her about, and so being the skilled at subtly bringing up awkward issues type of person that I am, I casually interjected with, "So...! hypothetically speaking-- what would you say is my dating age range?" "Okay, cough it up, what's his name?" I didn't even have to glance sideways to know that there was that knowing, grinning expression on her face. A very exasperating big-sisterly-teasing type of grin, mind you. "Well no name in particular, just answer the question," I thrusted my hands in my pockets and hunched up my shoulders--seemingly against the cold, but I suppose it just made me appear more sheepish than I intended. "At least tell me how old he is." "Well, hypothetically speaking... I mean if I were just to randomly pull up an age--and... randomly it happens to be twenty-three--" "Kareeen!" My sister stopped abruptly and whirled to look at me with an indignant no-no face. "You're the one who told me age shouldn't matter," I protested huffily. "Yees--but you should wait until you're like twenty..." "What's the difference? You're twenty-two and we're intellectually matched. And then there's Mishael--he's twenty three and I'm sure you'll agree with me in that I'm definitely more mature than he is." "But there's a big difference between someone who's in high school and someone who's been through college," "I don't understand. Like what?" "Well...-- there just is!" I looked at her, baffled, then clamped my mouth into a scowl and trudged ahead in a huff. Jemima was immediately again at my side, gazing at me with perked interest, and I could guess the nature of her questions that did ensue: "Where did you meet him? Who is he? What's his name? Is he cute?" It was my turn to stop and glare at her, "I thought by now you would trust my judgment of other people." "Yes, yes but who is he? You met him online, didn't you?" There was a thrilled tone with her--one that suggested her Romantic self found it all interesting and cutesy. It was silly, but I felt like I had to justify myself. I clamped my mouth shut however and trudged ahead again. Only, Jemima was intrigued and pressed the matter, "Well, tell me about him!" Seeing that she couldn't get a word out of me in that teasing, scheming voice of hers, she tried the big-sisterly approach, "Kareen, it's just that, with older guys--well any guy for that matter, you've got to watch out." "You're telling me this? Look at the guy you're going out with, he steals stuffed heads of deers!" "Well, Phil is different! What about this guy, has he had lots of experience with women?" I made a sound in objection, but I knew she wouldn't let it alone. "We're the same--we crush from a distance. But he was in love with a girl..." and... that began that. Briefly touching a bit on our dancing around the topic of mutual admiration through poetic exchanges and the philosophical conversations and other little tidbits like the bad handwriting and the scarf. Yes, briefly. I twitched, in exasperation and discomfiture as Jemima gave a girlish laugh and exclaimed, "He sounds like a dreamer!" When we returned to the apartment she brazenly announced the "internet affair" to Roommate Jeni and so now, there were two who were on match-making mode. And yea, it was frightening. I sat fidgeting and squirming as they interrogated, prodded and made gaga noises. First they cornered me into confessing that I was indeed considering sending him something for that horrible pseudo-holiday on the fourteenth, but hadn't the slightest clue what. "Send him flowers!" That was Jemima. I blinked at her, confused, "Send him flowers??" "Well, then knit him a scarf!" That was Jeni. "That's been done," I mumbled grudgingly. Then I was forced into the confession that I refused to swap pictures of me. Why? they asked, shocked. Because I looked horrible in pictures, that's why. And that was just something that was understood. But I guess onlt with me because at this Jemima dashed away and returned excitedly with a stash of my pictures, then began flashing them at me, "This one!" "NO!!" I backed away howling and pointing frenziedly at the monstrosity she held up, "I thought I told you to burn that!" "Well, what about this one?" "NOO! Not the skanky one!" "Ookay, then this one!" I shrieked in pain, "AAAH!! The braces! It blinds us! It blinds us!" Jemima's eyes lighted up, "Hey, you get your braces off Wednesday, right?" Jeni laughed, "Heeey, let's have a photo shoot." I looked feebly back and forth, from one to the other. Both had the same frightful glint in their eyes. I quietly put my head down on the table, traumatized by the deluge of horrific ideas and mumbled, "You can shoot me first." But it was Roommate Jeni, and not Jemima, who I felt more at ease to talk to. She had experience with the online crushing scene but had cut off the connection when she began dating her boyfriend of now. And then I asked her why she hadn't at least kept up the friendship. I told her I would have, because the friendship really should have been the basis of their relationship. And I think that in my case, I'm not making any romantic committments (that word! that horrible word!), only we've just admitted that our feelings for each other are platonic--but a little more so than. It used to be that I didn't give a damn about what anyone else thought, so long as I had Jemima's approval. When I brought it up to Jemima, I realized that for the first time--I wasn't seeking out her approval. And now, I'm sneezing and coughing and I believe I'm coming down with something so I shall end this -brief- tale here. I wonder what he's doing right now. Well, I know what he's doing because he told me. Still... ah well, heh, silicon hearts, beat away. 01.24.03 - 11:45 p.m.