.dream.hope.wish.be.

We are all old. And by old, I mean 22, an even number that is charged regardless of it being even. Brian and I realized this on his couch while nursing Bud Lights and he ate pasta with sauce, which has become a staple in his diet. He probably won’t eat in balance until he is married, or moves back home with mom and dad, which may never happen. We chatted about Summer 2005, 5 am sunrises on the roof deck and how cold and damp his last apartment was. We asked about people who have floated into our lives over the course of our friendship, and have floated out just as easily when the seasons changed. I keep in touch with some, he keeps in touch with others, and just as he asks about one, another asks about him. When did we all become each other’s “in” people. I may be one friend’s “in” to another group of friends who are actually just as distant with each other, relying on other “in’s” to form a group of individuals that look solid from the outside, but when you are actually “in”, you realize its hollow. There is no nucleus of solid relationships, fun friends make up the white, what about the yellow? What happened to the yellow? Is the yellow made up of the people who we love because they’ve been around so long? The people we put through the most because we know they’ll never leave us? The ones who know our flaws and when an attractive stranger shows interest they say… “She’s amazing, not a bad word to say about her.” We dance around the subject that technology, IM, facebook, and email has made us the impersonal generation. We make memories with each other, take photographs and post them with captions pertaining to inside jokes and allow them to be displayed to virtually anyone; strangers, ex-boyfriends, old friends who seem to have vanished into this abyss of space, cyber space. Photos are 2 dimensional. I would like to think we are all living enough to fill up all three dimensions completely until life overspills onto each other. We’re not. You would think that we are socially awkward, all unable to communicate without a keyboard, a firewall to protect us from our words, our feelings. Most of us are. I love sending cards, largely because I love getting them. I send cards for stupid things like, hey you left something at my house, or I lost your number, I would love to meet up for lunch. I very easily could send and email. A card sends along a little bit of a smile, intimacy that may take two days to get there via the post man, rain, sleet, or shine. The post man's kids have to go to college too. With so many advances in the speed of communication, how do people lose touch so easily? Blackberries, PDA’s and laptops. Wireless Internet, usually stolen. You would think that we are all a key stroke away from one another. Essentially we are, we’re all right there waiting for someone to actually hit the send button. A small note, a “hello”, a “how are you?”, a “hell, its been to long.”. Poking is getting really old, and should not be considered an acceptable form of communication much longer.