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I’m sorry, I know you’re busy. But what is the deal here? You know me, I’m on the level. Mostly business, no serious hang-ups. Logic brimming from my tweed pockets. But for the past few days I keep having feelings. I had like three more today while I was going to buy soup, which I seasoned with my tears when nobody was looking. I can’t hide my disappointment to the tech support guys, and with this new Dedicated-Virtual server, I mean, I’m on a first name basis with these clowns.
You think as you get older that these things don’t bother you as much. Adults, to me, certainly seem to be pretty emotionless most of the time. So you just grow out of it. You must know this better than me, now that you’re 24 you’re probably laughing at my naiveté. But it’s true. I’m like a high school kid over here. Thinking of poems while I walk outside through the snowy dead city. Philadelphia. The City That Once Was. And I’m listening to music the way I did that one time when I was sixteen and it was a hurricane, and I set off into Boston with just jeans and a t-shirt and a minidisc player, and even though I’d lived there all my life I had no idea where anything was and I ended up soaking wet at the reflecting pool by the Christian Science Center just as “Walking in Memphis” came on, and I looked to the sky and wondered what it meant. Then I got on a bus, the first one that arrived with a prime number and ended up at an Orange Line station, which was totally outside my realm of experience. Not as bad as the Blue Line though, which I still consider a myth.
I guess the moral of the story is that you don’t grow out of these things. You just lock them away and let them out less often. They either wait patiently, or they claw at the doors and you ignore the sounds. I can’t decide which metaphor is the right one.