Pining for the Moon

First of all, thanks to everyone for the birthday wellwishes. The only experience comparable is coming downstairs at the T-House to find my ship-home package filled with little messages from my fellow Taspers. Most of your lovely letters arrived exactly on my birthday. It was like freakin' Christmas.
My birthday at home was probably the best I've had in a while. Everyone I know somehow ended up at Chuck E. Cheese and I got to finally experience the childhood memory I had never had. We spent an absurd amount of money on tokens, slamming them into machines like gambling addicts on a high. Occasionally, the entire arcade would give a nervouse jump as the group of seventeen year olds in the corner shouted with glee at hitting the ticket jackpot. Finally, my friends had enough tickets to get me a surprise: six packs of Smarties and a glitter lava lamp.
Afterward, we moved to my friend's house and just talked for a while about phonographs and how much we hate Economics class. Such is the nature of large group conversations. I had the pleasure of driving my very best friend home late at night. I love talking in the car. Then, it was time for me to head home myself.
You all know me well enough to know that I can never truly be happy. Moonlight washed my thoughts in melancholy and I began to feel alone. I think Minyang and Robin said it best in two different conversations. You always are a writer, even when you aren't writing. And being a writer means being alone all the time, even in a room full of screaming ten years olds and your best friends.
I put on some Counting Crows and some REM, rolled the windows down in my truck, and turned on the heat. Someone once told me that this was like a having a hot fudge sundae. The fields near my house were dark and beautiful, the moon backlit the clouds, and I felt a bit better, like it was all manageable if you just took it bits at a time. Then, this song came on, perfect:
...

A long December, and there's reason to believe Maybe this year will be better than the last I can't remember the last thing that you said as you were leavin' Now the days go by so fast And it's one more day up in the canyon And it's one more night in Hollywood If you think that I can be forgiven....I wish you would The smell of hospitals in winter And the feeling that its all a lot of oysters, but no pearls All at once you look across a crowded room To see the way that light attaches to a girl And it's one more day up in the canyon And it's one more night in Hollywood If you think you might come to California...I think you should Drove up to Hillside Manor sometime after two a.m. And talked a little while about the year I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower, Makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her And its been a long December, and there's reason to believe Maybe this year will be better than the last I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself To hold on to these moments as they pass And it's one more day up in the canyon And it's one more night in Hollywood It's been so long since I've seen the ocean..I guess I should.

...

Thanks everyone for making my birthday beautiful. It was, really, and so are all of you. A year ago today, I was itching to get my license, hanging with a different crowd, and had never heard of TASP. Wow. It's amazing what can happen in a few

hundred thousand minutes.

"Don't let the days go by, glycerine."

love,

josh