After a day of slow and steady work yesterday, Rachael dropped by our beloved apartment four and whipped up some cheesey hamburger helper, which Buck and I devoured while viewing two episodes of Malcom in the Middle. Afterward we partook of a typically wacky discussion touching on all major topics (life, love, coworkers, and movies). When they left, I felt a sudden need to call Hannah. It had been over two weeks since our last talk, and all week I'd been battling an increasingly powerful missing feeling that I couldn't shake. S0...I borrowed Buck's phone and meandered off to Shadowlands field. Hannah answered on the first ring, and after our usual opening awkwardness--false starts and dead ends--got a good conversation up and running. It's tough for me to generate a dialogue out of two weeks' absence, to muster the conversational momentum that comes so easily to some people. I used to be rather ashamed of this, but ever since high school physics, I've realized that universal laws are on my side, which rather takes the bite out of my deficiencies.
Our talks always end in family. Hannah lives at home, in the thick of the clamor and confusion, the caring so powerful that it sometimes ends up causing more damage than good. And I, listening to her, love them all so much!
During our conversation, the sky behind the treeline that borders the soccer field keeps flashing with sheet lightning, outlining the deep boiling clouds, while the thunder grumbles. Just as I return from the field, a crack of thunder precedes the sudden rush of rainfall that chases me the last few feet to my front porch. The rest of the night, it poured and poured...and this morning dawned overcast and puddlewonderful and mudluscious.
I've had my coffee fix, and my Hannah fix, and a pancake with bananas too! Listening to the "You've Got Mail" soundtrack as I type this and pack my Annie Dillard read into my lunchbreak bag, I am confident that it will be a good day.
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