the great connected solitude.

Here, in the great connected solitude, me and you and him and her but really me who isn't me at all or you at all or him at all or her at all, but just a bundle, singular and multitudinous, of contingency, a confluence of incalculable decisions, actions and the inactions that are still actions.

Keystrokes, blinks, wars, misunderstandings, snapped fingers, spilled drinks, cuds chewed, nebulae photographed, kisses planted, skin shed, all lead to this moment, make it what it is. What is it, when the lamp goes out, the new song starts, the beer is sipped, the memory is triggered, the next word is postponed and inadvertently switches the tracks the train of thought was hurtling down a second ago? What is it?

Got me. But here in the great connected solitude, it's hard to feel lonely for long when that voice coming through the headphones reminds you of the strobe-lit dance party always going on outside your front door, and you start to realize the formless foundation of it all; and it's just as hard not to feel terribly alone when you start to realize the formless foundation of it all and that voice coming through the headphones reminds you of the strobe-lit dance party always going on outside your front door.

My God, I love this moment so much I might cry.

You're studying what?

I could be studying for tomorrow's Chinese final, but I'm not, because I've reached a saturation point. I've got a couple hours tomorrow morning that I plan on using to study (read: "cram"), and I've put in a fair amount of time over the past week, so I should do pretty well.

Sometimes I have no idea why I'm studying Chinese. Or why I do anything I do, for that matter. Surprisingly, this doesn't bother me as much as you might think.