Due to a small emergency an hour before time to leave for Nashville, Marshall has not come with me.  I listened to half of my last issue of the Mars Hill Audio Journal, a few Wilco songs, ate eight (8) pop-tarts, drank a bottle of water, and pondered the strangeness of being carried forward, still, in life.  It’s a great time to try and realize that I’m in love, when Marshall is not here.  I can be far away, have the space of 200 miles of I-40 to realize it, realize all kinds of things.

When I was going to school in this city, everybody at the coffee shops and the colleges was slightly older and more exciting than me, slightly more colorful and mysterious.  Now, I pass students in the hall and sit around J-J’s feeling like I’ve graduated from the nervous glances and self-conscious postures of this particular age.  When I was in college I felt like this about high school students.  None of this is news to anyone, is excessively boring, but I had to mention it.  When I was brushing my teeth in the posh new music building at Lipscomb, a girl came in and said “You have beautiful hair!”  Just like I used to do.  And now I’m at J-J’s Market, half-listening to a group of kids talk over some school project, talking earnestly and confidentially, like it was one of the Main Things of Life.  Just how I used to feel.

A guy that used to be a barista (and still is, for all I know) at Bongo Java just came in.  Man, I had such a shocking crush on him.  He looks like Ryan Adams, that’s probably why.  Because I see he is wearing a baggy white t-shirt and one of those boxy hip-hop black caps…backward.  Definitely did not used to dress like that.

Oh, J-J’s.  Bad art, as always, as always.  Pretty girls, med students, huge red velvet curtain separating us from no-one knows what.  I’ve seen two people I know, heard someone say “Heidi Baker,” heard someone sing Judy’s song about the dead cat on the side of the road, and … I am adjusting to that split life of mine — Nashville and Knoxville.  The two are morphing and merging in ways I couldn’t have foreseen, in really comforting ways.  Dr. Moore’s invitation to sing in this NEME concert is just such a movement.  And it would have been even nicer if Marshall could have been here, but … c’est la vie.

Now I have to gulp my tea and go to Kayla’s house.  Haha!  Lucky me.