The more things change...

A recent conversation about blogging made me think "hey, it's been awhile since any of us have posted to Salt Water Chronicles". Imagine my chagrine when I looked at the blog and realized it had been close to TWO YEARS!

I suppose there are things I could have blogged about in all this time, but when I look back, precious little seems to have really changed. I'm still in the same job. Still love it some days, completely bored by it other days, and completely overwhelmed by it on still others. I still live in the same apartment. I'm still single, and still trying valiantly (with occasional success) to be optimistic that the 13 year relationship I ended several years ago was not the end of my relationship career, and that somewhere out there is the right guy who will appreciate my many charms... really, I do have charms...

It's grey, damp, and relatively cool out again today. The weather forecast for the past 4 days has been promising blistering temps in the 90's, and each day has dawned grey and subdued, and in the 70's. The kind of grey that looks like it will burn off by noon except so far, it hasn't. I can't pretend to be upset about the cooler temperatures, because god knows I hate high heat and humidity. But somehow these past days have felt oppressive nonetheless. Oppressive in their sameness. And in the threat that any moment now the veil will lift and the sun will wilt us all in our tracks.

For some reason, I remembered an odd incident from a couple of years ago on my way to work this morning. I had gone to the mall for something (had to have been Xmas shopping, because I usually try to avoid malls at all costs) and came back to the parking lot to find that someone had parked their car at a crazy angle next to mine, leading me to believe I might not be able to get in via the driver's side, but would have to climb in and over through the passenger door. My initial reaction was a flare of anger and annoyance, and then I realized that the driver of the offending vehicle was still in the driver's seat. On closer inspection, I realized that said driver was a guy about my age, and that he was crying. Sobbing, actually-- the way you only do when you have lost someone, or been given some similarly devastating news. I opened my driver's side door as much as I was able, and did manage (just barely) to squeeze into my driver's seat. And then sat there for several minutes, torn. Should I see if he was OK? (I mean, clearly he wasn't, but should I ask if he needed help?) I wrestled back and forth with myself for a few, and then put my car in gear and drove away. I guess the chances are good that he would not have wanted someone intruding on his obvious grief. But when I thought about the incident this morning, there is still a part of me that wishes I had at least tried to offer some comfort...