February 22nd, 2002


My Funny Valentina

Just this morning—I submit to you a study in coincidence—just this morning, I was thinking of my dear friend Val and how I miss her and I should probably dig up her return address in Bordeaux from her last letter and mail her to say hi. Today's post brought a letter from her; only she's not in Bordeaux anymore, she's in Paris. Good thing I got her letter! I will probably mail her something on my day off next Tuesday, when I have plenty of time to sit around the post office and figure out what I have to do for foreign postage. She said to write soon, so she should be at that address for a few more weeks.

Why? I'm terrible at correspondence. I don't call my friends, ever; I don't even AIM them unless I have something to tell them or something to ask. I've never been able to keep a pen pal, and the sheer thought of writing a letter terrifies me. But I still remember, ages ago, when I was a wee lad in college how when I started to feel really depressed and like everyone had forgotten about me I received in the mail a care package from Val, a girl I barely knew through my acquaintance with Kiki Dee. The only mail I think I've sent (other than packages) since I was six was a post card to Val when she was at a summer art program. Someone correct me if you've gotten a card or letter from me, but I don't think I'm wrong here.

On the down side, her letter wasn't a cheery one. One of the reasons I urged her to take the semester in France was that she was feeling like she'd fallen out of all her groups of friends at school, but she's feeling the same isolation in Paris. I guess I can identify; I don't go out much at all any more. Except now she's in France, so we can't hang out and I can't give her hugs and cheer her up. =\

Maybe it's not such a coincidence, though. I just realized that the last time I saw Singles was hanging out with her, and the soundtrack is the CD I woke up to this morning. Still, it all ties in together.

Raisin d'Etre

I'm missing you like I miss my baby teeth
I'd kiss you like I'd kiss some guy named Keith
We're strangers, aren't we?
It's strange how we aren't free.

My mother never told me I'd feel like this
She'd tell me to hush, give me a gentle kiss
I'd slip to sleep to dream
in memories pristine

And like silence stalks the sound
inbetween it falls around
Love flows under ground

Echoes of eyes reflecting summer skies
and memories of sighs Why can't I wise
up and carry on? Instead I try to write a song
to you and the things you do to me

We're strangers, aren't we?
It's strange sometimes
what we can and can't see...
  • Current Music
    Paul Young - Everytime You Go away / Talk Talk - It's My Life