Unsent Messages

38

Saved as draft - 2/3/06

I stopped into the Belle Peinture today. Mr. Pauletta, the director, wasn't there. Instead, though, his assistant director remembered me. I asked her if I could speak with him, and she said she'd make an appointment. I've always figured that college helps you know what you want to do with your life, but I'm starting to think I'm on my way to figuring it out on my own. Art makes me happy. And maybe it's difficult to make a living out of, but if I could do something like this, selecting and discovering other talent, helping lost people to find their innermost artistic feelings, I would feel as successful as if I were making millions. 

So, I have an appointment with him tomorrow. Maybe I'll have the chance to tell you all this in person, considering we're having dinner tonight. It's nothing fancy, eating burgers in your car as you recite to me your essay on 19th century English literature, but I'm looking forward to it nonetheless. I think we're evolving into some sort of friends.

I can't say that that makes me unhappy. Rather, it's the contrary. Because we've talked, and we've met up for coffee on more than one occasion, and we've chatted about big things like college and the future, and little things like our favorite flavors of gum and what's good on TV. And I think, really, that this was what I wanted with you all along. To feel comfortable, and close, and friendly. Only, up until now, I never knew how to do it.

But, as I sit here and type this, I must say that I admit I was too fragile before. Too shy, too worrisome, too scared. And, if I'm being honest, not really prepared for the things that are happening now. I'm thinking that maybe, things had been happening the way they were supposed to happen all along. I needed this to come when I was ready for it.

And I'm ready for it now, whatever it might be.