SLEEPY FRIDAY MUSINGS . . .

. . . I love Thursday nights. That's when I get together with some beloved friends from NHF. Back in April, a group of us decided, almost simultaneously, that we as a community needed to get together to do a variety of things: get to know one another better; keep each other accountable as believers; pray for one another, our church, our nation and our world; and generally encourage each other in all aspects of our lives -- as lawyers, teachers, students, doctors, entrepreneurs, administrators, wives, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters, etc. A few members of this usually-9-person group were already friends or friendly with each other, but I think it's just human nature to want more -- I believe we're wired to need love and give love, to share our thoughts and feelings, to vent or cry or laugh with loved ones, to take on the burdens of friends and ease their paths, and especially as Christians, to give each other a shove towards God when necessary. Certainly, our group has grown closer in friendship and we have become a strange little family, despite our busy schedules, periodic absences and other interference.

At this point -- a mere two months later -- there's nothing we won't talk about. We -- a healthily co-ed group of young men and women -- have already discussed in detail matters such as hickeys, gynecological exams, real-life Talented Mr. Ripleys, lobster sleep cycles, lawyers without licenses, crazed co-workers, biblical interpretations, good vs. evil. We have shared our financial distresses, job malaises, future goals and hopes, personal emotional wounds, family burdens, moments of shame. We have given each other hugs, Kleenex, knowing glances, swift kicks in the butt, sarcastic one-liners, good-natured teasings, mock-dirty looks. We have boosted each other's spirits, dried each other's tears, rebuked each other's bad behaviors, understandingly guffawed at each other's everyday foibles. They are truly my brothers and sisters -- not merely in the cheesy "you're my sibling in Christ" kind of way -- but in the "I know I can trust you with my life and I'd lay mine down for yours" kind of way . . .

. . . Hooch's head is still staring at me. It doesn't make me jump anymore -- I guess my brain has finally reconciled the inconsistency of Hooch not actually being here with the existence of her face lurking over the computer. It's still funny. Our judge encouraged me the other day to deface it slightly before Hooch returns. Naughty, naughty. I must begin plotting my revenge a la black magic marker . . .

. . . What should I have for lunch today? . . .

. . . The Internet is the most bizarre thing in creation. Weirder than duct tape and definitely weirder than Peeps (which explode quite magnificently in the microwave). Some examples:
1. Yesterday, I spent an obscene amount of time trolling the Web for other people's blogs. I don't know why. I'm not a stalker. I'm not weird and lonely and looking for on-line friends. But that's exactly what we all are to each other -- unknown, strange, weird, slightly-stalker-ish online friends. OMG, I became the creep that I normally make enormous efforts to avoid!!! Really, I just want to read what's going on in other people's lives (okay, I'm inordinately nosy). I appreciate good wit and humor and I like reading it, no matter who writes it. I feel glad for people who have had really great things happen in their lives, and I cry for people who have suffered pain or loss. I scoff at people who misspell words in their blogs, and wonder at people who curse profusely in their writing. Anyway, after all my Web-trolling, it occurred to me that the Internet has shrunk the universe by about 10,000 degrees. Thus, I now have non-friend "friends" all over the country. So strange. Who are you people?!
2. Today, I must spend some time tracking down Jaime's Mr. Ripley. We don't really know anything about Mr. Ripley except that he tells a lot of extravagant lies and seems harmless so far -- perhaps just a small case of schizophrenia mixed with some other mental pathology(ies). We hope. Very fascinating. Very scary -- I had a hard time falling asleep last night after hearing the entire Mr. Ripley saga. But that's what Google is for. I love Google. Mr. Ripley, you better watch out, because I'm going to find you.
3. I must also find cheap cardboard boxes and vellum-like paper for JKo (eh, wedding stuff). Why spend gas, time, toll money, energy and parking quarters rolling around New York, New Jersey and Connecticut, when I can find some schmoe dealer in the middle of Nevada who will ship me everything I need for a nominal price and C.O.D.? Hey, my desk chair is comfortable, and I'd rather be here than in my car fuming at one of you sucky drivers . . .

Yes, I love the Internet, even though it skeeves me out utterly.

. . . Someone asked me the other day if I tailor my blog to my readers. The answer is a loud, emphatic "NO." I write like I write. Here, I tell you what I feel and what I think. Here, I don't care that much what you think in return because I assume if you like me or hate me enough, you'll tell me so. Here, I have an outlet that won't interrupt my chain of thought, stop me periodically to ask questions or for clarification, look at me quizzically and give me pause when I say strange and/or incomprehensible things, or tell me I'm stupid. Here, I write so that my brain doesn't explode and my heart doesn't get so heavy it falls out of my body. I am more honest on this faceless website than I am or will be face-to-face, because you can't see me blush or cry or giggle or fidget or glance away, and so I can just tell it. Here, my "yes" is my "yes" and my "no" is my "no." Here, I impose upon you my life that you don't care to ask about when you see me in person, and hope that you will know and love me better in return. Here, I can let you in on my secrets and show you exactly what I want to show you, and you can't grab more from me than I let you grab. Here, I can skewer the people who hurt me, I can praise those whom I love, I can honor those I respect, I can criticize those I disagree with, I can question the things that confuse me, I can shout for joy with abandon, and I can mull for hours and hours without end. Basically, this is all about me. Hee, hee, hee. So, no, I don't tailor this blog for you. I don't write to make you happy or rile you up or cause you to think, question, wonder. If you are happy, or riled up, or thoughtful or confused -- well, that's cool too. But I am what I am, and this is what it is. Thanks for reading . . .

. . . No, really -- what should I have for lunch today? . . .