In brief

I want to coincide with someone.

There are too many people in my life who could be my great love, if not for some constellation of extenuating circumstances, mine and theirs. K., J., The Poet, even to some extent E, though I never see him--all of these, under slightly different circumstances, could be the great partnership. As evidenced by the fact that I've kissed every single one of them goodbye the last time I saw them. (J. being like 10 minutes ago and oh by the way now we're Facebook friends.) But none of us can coincide.

What would it be like, to coincide? I said to J, and he agreed, that this wasn't the way our story was supposed to go. K. always said if he were 15 years younger and single--The Poet, too. And I vowed not to live in those what ifs, not to go to Hoboken, as it were.

And yet. I'll be okay tonight. I've been up since 6 and it's almost 2--I won't have trouble sleeping. I'll work in the morning, I'll see people in the afternoon. I won't squander Saturday or Sunday. Monday I will tell the girls about this--C and L, but not the same C who reads this. Tuesday I'll introduce my students to Derrida. Wednesday I will sit zazen and maybe more. And so on. I'll sit every day, I'll see The Poet on Thursday. I could have gone to DC tonight and I didn't. I'll be okay. I'll sit with my present, I promise. I'll try to at least coincide with myself. It's better this way. I'll take myself back to the period rooms at the Brooklyn Museum. No one's ever there, especially not, as I found today, on a rainy Thursday. I won't obsess. I'll have good news to report to the guy I had the conversation about distraction with yesterday.

I promise I'll be good this time.

Just promise me something in return.