On sharing a cubicle ...

Di: Is he the one that said something about (insert particular detail of my social life).

Me: Yes.

Di: Is it weird that I know the detailed minutia of your life but I don't remember to do the big things ... per say, like vacuuming?

On circles ...

"How's your weekend going?"

It's Wednesday at 9:41 p.m. I'm driving to Wal-Mart and I have a 12-hour work day ahead of me. It is definitely NOT the weekend.

"Just great," I try. "How was your day at school?"
"It was OK," he says with a heavy sigh. "We made ladybugs."
"I like ladybugs."

There's a pause in conversation.

"I love you."
"I love you, too, Sam."

There's another pause.

"So...," he says, looking for something to say. "How's your weekend going?"

------------------------------

Every phone conversation with Sam is upliftingly the same. He says he misses me. He asks when I'm coming home. He tells me he loves me. Then he asks how my weekend is going, no matter what day of the week it is. If I ask Sam how he's doing, sometimes he is good, and sometimes, he doesn't know.

I have a friend Davey who will laugh and exclaim "I don't know!" when you ask him how he feels.

"Are you sad, Davey? Happy?"
"I don't know!" he'll say again, giggling.

------------------------------

It's several hours after I've hung up the phone with Sam but now I'm the one going in circles.

"What's wrong?" he asks.
"I'm not sure."

"What are you going to do?" he asks.
"I don't know," I say with a heavy sigh.

How did it make me feel?
Heck if I know, I think. All I know is I'm a mess.

There's a pause in the conversation.

I scramble for something, anything, to break the silence I've created.

"I should let you go so you can get some sleep," I say for the millionth time.

I wonder if this is how Sam feels when he doesn't know what to say.

"I love you."
"I love you, too."

There's another pause.

"K ... Well, I should let you go so you can get some sleep."

At least we're consistent. In Sam's case that's not a bad thing: In his world it is always the weekend; and he will always love me.

________________________

My friend Davey was wearing a T-shirt with this Web site and the slogan "Spread the word to end the word," the other day. I've signed ... you should, too. And just in case you missed it ... October was National Down Syndrome Awareness Month. It definitely doesn't have to be October to tell someone you know with Down syndrome you love them.

On commencing ...

Dear Class of 2012:

According to the letter containing BYU law school laptop requirements, that now means me.

I don't cry at funerals or weddings. I didn't cry when I needed stitches or when my goldfish died. I successfully hold back the tears every other Friday when my paycheck comes.

But I'm an emotional wreck at graduations.

I cry for the parents who are proud. I cry for the graduates who have reached a milestone. I cry for the amount of time they have spent saving, scrimping and working to pay for tuition. I cry because they are lucky and for the millions around the world who will never have an education. I cry because I'm one of the lucky ones. I cry because I'm done with school and I miss it. I should be crying because there is joy in leaving the university and because leaving has really been the point all along. I should be happy for all of those donned in cap and gown ... but I cry bitter tears for them because they have no idea how much better their lives are as students. I cry because I know I'm absurd.

My brother's high school graduation is a week away. My next graduation, still another three years. Good thing I've got some time to prepare.

On abandoning ship ...

My parents are going on a week-long vacation to San Diego in July. I was invited to come. It means quittting my job earlier than anticipated. I figure an extra $1,200 in student loans is worth the sanity a few weeks between the craziness-that-is-current and the-craziness-that-will-be will afford. I am relishing the idea of a few blank weeks to buy books, bake and freeze meals, sit on a beach and move my stuff from one dwelling to the other slowly instead of forcing my poor boyfriend to move everything in a 12-hour-stretch. It feels like I haven't had a break that long between employment since the eighth grade.

I just put the letter with my new quit date on my editor's desk ... and from the other side of the cubicle heard him swear loudly in shock as he picked it up.

At least I'll be missed??

On connecting ...

I don't have Internet connection at my new place. Which means I've been blogging from work. Coincidentally, everything I've wanted to blog about in the last few weeks has required a picture to do it justice and suddenly I am without the ability to upload photos easily because I'm blogging from work. It's kind of a vicious cycle. Here's hoping I get Internet soon. Otherwise you'll be forced to read painfully detailed descriptions of stuffed toy seagulls. Yah ... a picture really would be worth 1,000 words in that case.