Sitting here wishing on a cement floor

So L, it turns out, leaves me in order to see if she can fall for someone who is not a city dweller and has an upbringing more similar to her own. Or something like that.

It seems my life is a feedback loop: the more distance I achieve from my starting point, this urban north Jersey, the more it becomes emblematic of me, the more I'm taken to stand for it and, in turn, whatever it itself is taken to stand for. Like how over my four years of the academy I developed, for the first time, the hints of a Jersey accent. I don't want it, I want her. (Simplification is my new order of the day)

The guy who's assisting her in this experiment is a Tri-athlete. Which is going to work itself into a complex for me, since I've been thinking about starting race-training on my bicycle to get my mind off of her. And we were talking about training to ride a century together. Heh. Even my distractions need distractions.

It feels like a constant low grade panic attack. Just a tightness in the chest, a shortness of breath, and constant self-admonition that I can no longer call her to talk about my day or ask about hers.

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Trust, as a concept, has been on my mind a lot. Namely, how it gets rebuilt.

Walking through the city last night with John and S, I came upon a battered suitcase very neatly packed with vacuum tubes. Like a strange sign from God that I was found at least mildly interesting. A suitcase full of vacuum tubes, a whispered intelligence having to do with things discredited and obsolete.