Brown and Grey Cords.

 I have about 7 pairs of them, only brown and grey colored in boot cut and three in slim straight leg. Every year for the past three years I buy a pair or two, and have been upping the ante quite frequently. I think I will buy another pair tomorrow. It's strange - I go through these phases in life where I will pretty much the same thing over and over for months or even years on end. I wonder what this signifies? Is it a sign that I am longing for the days of private school where I had such little choice and a structure that was imposed on me? I must admit, these days I could use some structure, maybe a little discipline too - but please - be nice. I did miss the convienence of wearing the exact same outfit five days a week at school. Rejoicing inside when yet another spill, or stain from art class hit my shirt. My own little form of rebelling against the fundamentalist christian theocracy. I remember getting dressed in the morning and surveying the damage on my 60% poly 40% cotton dress shirt. "I look like shit." Awesome.

 Recently, I was thinking what my past self would have done if my current self traveled back in time to the year 1997 to inform (adjust expectations) young me what would be happening in 2008. Somehow, I would teleport to that railroad trestle where my friends and I would drink beer in the evenings and piss on the empty 12 pack container after we set it alight and threw it off the bridge. It would gently float down from a  great height of around 50 feet and come to rest on a sandy creek bank, briefly illuminating the inky black undergrowth. The crickets started right around 9:00.

 The railroad trestle was in town, not in the country. It was in a heavily wooded area called White Rock lake, where I used to ride my bike around the lake on long evenings and weekends. If you caught it right - and I always did in the beginning of summer, which starts in late April in Texas - you could make it out to White Rock and watch the fireflies at dusk. Thousands of them and it went on late into the evening. I must have spent hours there, it almost was hallucinogenic if you defocused your eyes. Green fireflies glowing in the distance and a cigarette ash blinking right back at them. If you dared to walk out into the woods (homeless people lived in there) you would have this almost weightless sensation of being suspended in a solution of midnight and phosphorescence, I guess that's what it's like being in space.  I would always take my friends there if we needed to talk. Lindsey Wylie once told me she had lost her virginity when we were talking once at that spot. I almost choked up - not out of envy. I just loved her, that's all. Like watching your best friend getting married. Her mom died a few years later, right before graduation if I recall. Things fell apart after that. She didn't much want to talk to me after that. I always wondered why. I loved her, she was one of my best friends.