Some more road ponderings.

I went to the bar the other night, I wanted a beer and some noise, some distraction from thinking too much or spending time online. Some human interaction.

Strolling in, I saw the bar held just a handful of people. Undaunted, I hung up my coat and grabbed a handful of peanuts.

Toward the back, I saw a person I hung out with a while ago, and a pang of sadness jabbed at me. I went over and paid my hellos and ordered a budweiser. I wandered out to the front of the bar and grabbed a seat, catching up with the bartender on computer geek talk and munchin on the peanuts.

After the crowd thinned more (from 7 to 4) I saw a seat open toward the back and I caught up with my acquaintance. Funny how months can pass and nothing really new happens so it’s like no time has passed in essence.

Maybe we need monumental events to make conversation more interesting, I dunno.

(Note: I’m having difficulty, trying to keep this entry pertinent, without revealing too much. It’s a friggin journal though, but I sorta don’t dig the whole public aspect of it. I know I can simply click one button to make it private, but I’m against that for some odd reason)

Long story short, I was told that it’d be great to just go home and cuddle, as friends. Dang that sounds corny typing, but it was earnest sounding at the time.

I pondered these words while driving back from Columbus, and wrestled with the chord it struck.

I broke a while back, and can’t get back on the horse when it comes to intimacy. (Who am I kiddin, I was broke as far back as I can remember)

Sure I’d invite the opportunity with the right person, but it’s difficult when you see their departure already.

I’ll continue to wrestle with this inability to be intimate, and let more time pass. Maybe some monumental event, heck, maybe some insignificant small little thing, will happen – and I’ll be able to accept warmth.

For a moment there, as the passing lines zipped by underneath the hood, I felt some resolve that I didn’t want an evening, I didn’t want a weekend, I didn’t want a month. I wanted something open-ended, with hope for a good piece of time. Perhaps a lifetime.

I realized this isn’t the right approach. It’s not right to think this way, as you have to let an evening happen, before you can get to the weekend, that may lead to a month.

Regardless, when the clock struck one at the bar, it was time to say goodbye and tip the hat. I gathered up my coat and stuffed another handful of peanuts into my pocket and headed home. I had extra pillows to cuddle.