running, returning, on and on it goes

It’s a lonely day in the airport. I’m in Portland, and I’ve seen the view, rising above the clouds from the tiny airplane window so many times before. It has lost its charm. I’m sitting here, surprised at how fast spring break came and went. We left the house for the airport at 6:30am.

This last Saturday was fantastic. Alane and Mia drove up from LA and Leo down from Oakhurst, and we spent the day lazy in the Yeo house, like many memorable Sabbaths before. When the night approached, we played board games all night. Balderdash is my favorite, although I always lose. I think it’d be better if I played with people who didn’t know me so well. The game required we make a movie synopsis for the title “Expresso Bongo” (not like the coffee. But most of us used it anyways) – and everyone neglected to vote for my answer as of: a group of beatniks travel from coffee shop to coffee shop, bringing their love for literature, poetry, and jazz to the streets. Leo, Alane, and my mom said they knew who it was (me!) from the minute they heard the word: beatnik, soo they knew it couldn’t be the real, right answer. Well ppsssshhh. And Mia said, “I’ve seen a bunch of indie movies about the same thing, and they’ve all been horrible.” Thanks. And apparently my acronym for CROC as Caution! Rabid Octopi Crossing! is illegitimate, simply because, Octopi can’t get rabies, and where would their mouths foam – under the water? I ended up somewhere in the middle of the losers and winners (which I prefer to dominate, but this is the comfortable usual). Jeanne swept clean of the win, after getting 6 votes for ZUM in weird words, defining it as a flute-like instrument originating from Ghana that you play by blowing into it with your nostrils. No one voted for the actual correct answer, which was a crossbreed between a cow and a yak. I laughed so much playing this game with these people. Laughter really can be painful at times. There were several times I found myself unable to breathe, aches erupting from my sides, and while this is a downfall to laughter, I can’t seem to feel bitter about it. These people make life so wonderful!

Alane and I went to Blackbird Studios to get art supplies. She likes it when I read her Dave Eggers, and so I did, aloud, on the drive. I read her the short story: “Climbing to the Window, Pretending to Dance” from How We Are Hungry, his stories have no real resolution, they're sort of anti-climactic. I like that about them. They are realistic and sincere. She likes how he is expressive, and quixotic, even in daily life, his little details, about driving alone down the I-5. He likes to see the faces of people driving the opposite way, imagining their lives, wishing them well or ill. I’m not the only dreamer in this world. This gives me reassurance and a simple comfort.