Vignettes
<<2004-11-16 - 8:32 p.m.>>

I am drawn to people who are constantly pushing around scenery for their own huge internal operas. They want me to help, and I do.

On the steps of the lion library (which I still, after Christmas parties and research papers and a hundred bus rides, call it), I told Sarah I would not be the middleman for her drama with Julie. I told her I felt like I was trying to convince them not to get divorced.

Later, when I was trying to get a cab, I realized I'd accidentally almost poached a cab from an exhausted-looking young hispanic couple and their two kids, one of whom was still in a stroller. But when I offered them the cab, the driver peeled out so fast the tires squealed. (I walked home.)

My big, big headphones don't tune everything out (a woman came up to me on the street, poked me and offered me a card blaring "I LOST 402 POUNDS!") but they help (I can make the Faraway Stare when I pass a group of guys and see their eyes start to slide).

I want to write vignettes. I want to know when to care and when not to and how to tell the difference and how to care passionately when caring is not an excuse to escape myself.

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