Earlier in the evening a friend brought up ego/super ego/id. I’m a high school graduate and have no appreciable knowledge of them, so he sent me a link. I should feel stupid for knowing as little as I do at this point in my life, but I don’t. I’m a fairly intelligent person, who couldn’t afford higher learning and didn’t even desire it at the time. It’s probably good I don’t feel stupid about that, though, because I find plenty of other things to feel stupid about.

I’m also writing a script about artists and pragmatists.

This all sort of tied together.

Anyway, at the end of the movie I really cried. Really. I didn’t immediately know why. I mean, Kevin Spacey was all over the kitchen, but then it struck me, how much we need each other.

They remind us that we have to get up, that beds don’t make themselves, that when an engine makes a strange noise, it should be reported, that we must stay in motion.

And, we remind them that none of the above matters too much.

We need them to make the world go around, but they need us to make it worth the effort, even if they won’t admit it out loud.

They need us to feel.

We need them to need us.

and when I say us, I know that to break “us” down, our details make us all quite different and not so easily categorized. In fact I shouldn’t say us at all, but me. And, I shouldn't say them, but you.

I don’t think I could tell you this. If I said it this plainly, you wouldn’t understand. It’d be like the time we talked about art, while you were fixing my car, and you said art if fine as long as it serves a useful purpose. Art on a blanket, you said. That’s something you can get behind.

But, when I smiled at how different we are, you smiled, too, and then our smiles grew. Acceptance, respect, love. It was a beautiful moment. We need more of those moments. You and me.

I haven’t heard this in years. Anyone beside Mick who tries to sing ER ends up sounding like an Idol reject. Knowing didn’t stop me from belting it during the morning commute, though, as proudly as I could.

I feel light. Young. Nothing can touch me. I’m hovering above the inside with forward momentum. I could question the reasons why, like maybe it's because I’ve gotten more physically active of late or that spring is in the air.

But, words seem pretentious, today, and I’ve no desire to be analytical.

I'd rather be riding across the desert ... on a fine Arab charrrrger.