When I was in college there was a running joke between my friends and I that I, like a carton of milk, have an expiration date of 30 years.

This evening I went grocery shopping and picked up, among other things, some milk.

It expires on 4.25.2009 – the date of my fast-approaching 30th birthday.

I haven’t stopped running for weeks.

At Boeing, I spent the first three months trying to get work assigned to me.  At the new job, I walked into a group of people who couldn’t wait to get some help.

One of the greatest things about changing jobs is being able to leave behind so many issues that just weren’t working out.  Of course, the flip side of that is that you also leave behind all the things that were going well.  The worst of those – the people.  It’s especially bad this time having left an organization wrapped in secrecy.  The daily IM conversations just aren’t there to be had.  I barely have enough time to relax after a long day – where do I find the time to keep in touch with those I wish I didn’t have to leave behind?

It’s good to be excited about work again.  These days, when it’s hard to get out of bed it’s because I’m tired, not because I feel no drive to try to move a mountain with a shovel.

A major project has been escalated here.  The Star Ball is in two weeks.  I’m just waiting for the next shoe to drop.  It has happened in the past, and there’s a good chance it could happen again this time.  Visitors are making plans, clutter is being brushed aside, and that nervous anxiousness of possibility is creeping in.

It’s nice to be able to see a glimpse of the future for a change.  Especially a brighter one…

You could say that I gave up.  Or that I stopped believing… Or even that a long, bad streak has hardened me.  I’d like to think that I’m just being cautious.

Unfortunately, I’ve never been that good at convincing myself of anything.

Two weeks ago I let myself dream a little, then quickly put those to rest.  I have, as my closest will all tell you, this uncanny ability to get wrapped up in things that have not yet come to pass and spin images of people that aren’t based off reality.  So I, as previously said, stopped myself before a tick was added to the frustrations column.

And then Monday I got an itch to dance that just had to be scratched.  So I headed for the studio to pick up a class.  There were familiar faces everywhere.  Three years since I started it all, and I was a very welcomed face – particularly by one individual, who had a message for me.

Was it really me she noticed all those nights ago?  We only shared a couple dances that evening.  Depending on my mood – or, more appropriately, my current state of self-esteem – I can put the events together a couple of different ways.  I was ready to write it off as a case of mistaken identity.  I still am…

I never thought I would be at a point in my life where the only love I can remember is unrequited.  These days I just try to be careful not to stir up old ghosts.  My sentimentality is my own worst enemy.  I’m cautious over what music I listen to, what movies I watch, how much time I have with nothing but my thoughts…

I’ve grown scared of hope.

I’ve probably said more than anyone how I believe that someday things will all fall into place making all the pain worthwhile.  But each year I watch go by makes it that much harder.

I miss the days of blinded sight.

Given how bad 2008 was for the vast majority of the world I feel relatively safe assuming that 2009 is going to be that much better.  Right now all over the world people are reflecting on the ups and downs of the previous 365 days.  I tend to go back a bit further.  In college, a good year was one that ended with me in a relationship and out of trouble.  Now a good year is one that ends with me in a stable job and out of debt.  I fear 2009 will need to get a couple weeks under its belt before I know if 2008 ended good or not.

It’s amazing what time can do to a person.  In college I rarely spent a day alone.  I was surrounded by close friends.  There was always someone there to share a meal, watch a movie, confide in… Holidays meant figuring out who was going home with whom.  Break ups meant running off to your friends and exploring a different opportunity the next week.

It was easy to take those things for granted.

These years… This "adulthood" if you can call it that.  These years change people.  Jaded and broken, I have come to expect the worst.  Feelings of defeat and failure will rip apart the strongest of hearts.  It’s a crippling sensation.  Three months ago a gentle touch from a cute face which should have made me raise an eyebrow instead just said "don’t get your hopes up".

The attitude… The expectations… They are all wrong for this world.

I have a laundry list of things I’ve wanted to accomplish for quite some time.  Motivation and attitude keep those goals out of reach.  But I really don’t have any other choice.  If I don’t step up now, the longer term – and more important – objectives will never fall into place.

A little white dress with orange flowers reminded me of that tonight…

pffft…. pfffttt…. Is this thing on?

I live!  For those of you who don’t know, I bought a house – my first.  I moved a few weeks ago and have been trying to get settled ever since.  I just got my internets turned up Wednesday, so no more stealing wireless from the neighbors.

It’s interesting what you can learn about your neighbors just by the name of their wireless network.  First, I found that even though I moved into a relatively old neighborhood, there are quite a few people with wireless around me. There are a few default "linksys" and "home" networks floating in the ‘hood unsecured.  There are several people with AT&T’s new U-verse service (which is what I got).  And then there are the custom-named networks.  "Transmutations of Supposed Angels" – At first I thought "ooooh, an artists!", but then I realized it’s the name of an album by some no-name group – "Maximum Indifference".  And there’s the person who named his (or her…) network "goatse".  Ehhh… If you know what that is, chuckle to yourself or roll your eyes or cringe or whatever.  If you don’t know what that is, do not under any circumstances look it up – especially not at work, around family, or other impressionable minds.

I’ve met a couple of my neighbors.  On each side there are big dogs that like to bark.  The lady to the north of me told me how I need to cut my grass (no, there’s no neighborhood association here).  The couple to the south of me are about my age and engaged to one another.    The lady across the street stood on her porch and yelled "hi neighbor!"  I’d like to have people over to meet them, but still need to get stuff put away and organized.  Considering that when I moved out of my apartment – which I was in for two years – I moved boxes that hadn’t been unpacked since the last move, I need to get my act together.

This afternoon I watched two of my closest friends marry one another.  It was simply awesome.  It’s moments like those that give me hope.  Chalk up another win for the home team.

Moments after the procession started someone caught my eye.  She was cute, a complete stranger, but somehow very familiar.  Later I would find that she worked with my other Irish friends abroad and had come for a visit and the wedding.  Familiarity explained, a small lump grew in my throat.  I did my best to try and knock back those memories and avoid the beauty.

At the reception the bride and groom both spoke of their craziness and living in Ireland and whatnot.  A couple hours later I was standing face to face with the lass in full conversation.  We might as well had known each other for a year.  She asked disappointedly why she hadn’t met me when I was visiting and then what it would take to get me over for a visit.  4000 miles away from her homeland and that friendly hospitality so common over there still shines.

I miss those days.

I miss Ireland.

I miss her…

This above all is what makes life difficult.  What do you get when you cross a dreamer with a realist?  A walking paradox in constant inner struggle, this has come even more apparent recently.  Over the past year or so in an effort to accept whatever my current situation is and be happier the realist in me has come to greater light.  Tonight was a perfect example of that struggle.

The dreamer in me wants to live abroad.  He wants to pack up, move overseas, and fall for some foreign girl with an accent and different phrasing.  New.  Exciting.  Mysterious!  Different cultures.  Different day-to-day lives.  Different everything!  I want to live in a place were every single day is full of meaning and memories even if it’s merely because I’m in a totally different world.

The realist in me just bought a house.  He’s the one who is screaming for me to stay in one job for more than a year.  To save money.  To put away for retirement.  To do things that will help secure my future.

The dreamer in me is unhappy – depressed even.  He’s constantly asking why certain things aren’t in my life.  He’s pessimistic.

The realist in me recognizes the benefits of how I’m living life at the moment.  He’s reminding me that I’m preparing to accept all those things I want into my life.  He’s optimistic.

It’s so much easier to be depressed.  It really is hard work to be happy.

I just keep telling myself that the choices I’m making today may not be leading me directly to what I want, but they are preparing me to actually be ready and keep hold of what I’m ultimately seeking in the future.

That’s what I keep telling myself…

I hope I’m right.

Please be right….

God help me if I’m wrong…

Life is amazing.

I don’t mean my life specifically, I mean life in general.  Our bodies.  Our minds.  Our hearts.  Our senses.  Our emotions.  The way memories link together.  The way those memories get triggered by places, smells, sounds… The incredible power of recognition.  And most of all, the patterns.

Just think for a second about your body and how much information is constantly being observed, processed, and recorded.  How many distinct sounds can you pick out at a time?  The blower on the A/C.  The fan on your computer.  The sound of your fingers striking the keys on a keyboard.  The sniffling of your nose.  A cat meowing.  Crickets chirping.  You yawning.  A song playing, which, on its own, has a dozen other distinct sounds.  Your body can simultaneously process every single one of these things while you think of something totally unrelated, and the best part is – you still have four other senses.

All of these wonders of life and still a good portion of people believe that it happened randomly.  Fools.

Yesterday I held my breath for two and a half hours.

It wasn’t by choice.  It wasn’t forced upon me.  It was all I could do to survive after getting broadsided.

Fifty-two weekends in a year, and she happened to choose the same as I to visit one of our old favorites.  She wasn’t alone – nor would she be on a trip such as that.

It was obviously awkward for the both of us at first glance.  In an instant I could see all the familiarity of phases we once discussed on frequent occasion.  She may as well had a cartoon thought bubble above her head.  The pause.  The initial widening of the eyes quickly followed by a regaining of composure.  This being the first time we spoke – or even saw each other – since that last fateful phone call, she awaited my queue to set the tone.

Would I treat her like a stranger with a familiar face sharing nothing more than a nonchalant hello?

Would I lose my composure given the circumstances?

Would I treat her like a friend I hadn’t seen in too long?

I made my choice, and then could see the flurry of questions form in her head.  The instant analyzation… It was easy to remember… well, everything.

Hers wasn’t the only expression I recognized.  That torn half-smile filled his face the same as every time the three of us were together.  The disapproval he tries to hide because he isn’t sure if it’s for the right reasons.  Even though he has things I never will, it’s those things that I have that he doesn’t that rip at him the most.  It’s a shame, because both he and someone else – but not her – are missing out over things he can’t let go.

I’m not sure if she accepted my invite to join us because she wanted to, or because she didn’t want to give the wrong impression to everyone else who was with me.  I was surprised, though, when she grabbed a chair, sidled right up next to me, and near instantly started catching me up.

She told me the ends of the last few stories that we started together.  Some new news.  Some old.  I shared the few things I thought she would be interested in with her.  An hour into talking and I wasn’t sure if it was the past or present.  It felt like it could have been any other of the times we were there together.  I mustered up enough courage to ask the questions she doesn’t like when strangers ask, and she didn’t give me the stranger answers.

Fifty-two weekends.  Fifty-two Saturdays.  Fifty-two Sundays.  Six prime hours each of those one hundred and four days, and we chose not only the same day, but the same time of arrival.  Call it luck.  Call it fate.  The real question isn’t how, it’s why.

Was it merely a chance to ensure the past had been smoothed given the approaching future?

Was it a test of things previously said?

Or was it a message about a future choice?

I had nearly made it to the end of the summer without missing her.  And then, on a single day, over a single bottle of wine, it has all come back.  It was all I could do to try and keep the thoughts of those days we shared at the wineries – and the things that followed – out of my head.  There is still a spark between the two of us that can easily set things ablaze.  I felt again that closeness that made the good times that much better, and the bad times not matter.  Sitting there amidst everyone else, we still managed to lean in and have our own private conversations.

It’s days like yesterday that I both love and hate.

I love to recall the good times.  I love to see there is something left of that past.  I hate to question if we made the right decision.

I hope I’m not the only one whose head is spinning.

It’s hard telling what triggers memories sometimes.  A smell, a taste, a song, an image, a few words, a gesture… There are those memories that make you want to tell a story.  And then there are those memories that are so strong they pull you into the past and it’s all you can do to hold on to the roller coaster ride.

From stoop to stoop, I remember every step of the trip.  The various smiles, laughs, and accents.  The parade of green suits.  The six short hours.  The fresh stamp on the smooth paper.  That smile…

I can still feel the wood floor flex under my bare feet.  I can still smell the cool morning air pouring through the bedroom window.  I can see my suitcase by the door with my shoes on the floor with me wondering if there’s going to be a morning after, because I couldn’t tell if I was living or dreaming those days.  The hair on my arms stands up like it did right before I ended up with a phone that wouldn’t ring anymore.

And then, *poof*, just like that, I’m back at the airport wondering should I stay or should I go.

Part of me stayed.

Part of me always stays…

Today was the first day I’d been on those roads without her.  Before the times with her, I’d never been to any of those places.  Just another of the many things she brought into my life to make it that much sweeter.  Now, I get that knot in my stomach as I head across the extension crossing the bridge into the far county then bending and twisting through the country-side before reach any one of the more than half-a-dozen places we enjoyed there together.

I try not to think of her absence, but it’s impossible.  I recall the conversations we had along the drive.  I taste the same tastes.  There’s music and people dancing, but, this time, not us.  I see a couple sneak off from the crowds and disappear behind the same hill we did the first time went searching for the green sign.

On the way home I can see the stacks in the distance.  The view brings more old conversations to mind, and those thoughts of even more things I had hoped we do together, but never will.  I make a quick stop to pick up a couple of our favorites.  Some of the faces look familiar, but are unknown to me.  I doubt they recognize me, especially without her there.

I coast down that steep hill and continue home.  A quick moment later and I’m surrounded in more memories.  One of the oldest between us, we weren’t even 24 hours into each other when we traveled down that trail.

It’s hard to know what to do these days.  There are so few things that don’t remind me of something we did or planned to do.  Everyone tells me to get out and stay busy, but where do I go?  She is everywhere and nowhere.  Another ghost, another dream, unrealized…