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  • Writer's pictureLeah Jones

The weather is making me cranky.

Maybe not the weather, it was a beautiful day and I got to spend quality time with rarely seen friends. But something in the air has had me on the verge of tears today.

It might be that I am overtired and fighting off a cold. Or overtired and recovering from the curry sauce. Or that jupiter is in retrograde or something. I don’t know, I simply feel maudlin. According to the lunar calendar, I should be well clear of hormone induced maudlin feelings.

Tonight I went to visit my college friend Logan at the bookstore where he works. I happened upon Logan one day when I was walking down the street and popped in for no reason. There was one of my closest college friends behind the counter. Hooray! Logan and I used to be in a club called L3. Along with Lisa, we were the only three members. Logan had a crush on Lisa and I was the tag-a-long friend. L3 stood for our names and for our genuine loser status. We were all single and RAs. I don’t remember why else we thought we were losers, but we had strong convictions about it. I even had a special keychain that Logan made for me.

For a long time, Logan knew more about me than anyone else. More than Ryan, because Logan didn’t judge me for anything I did or said. So he heard and saw more than anyone else. He also instigated some troublemaking. It was great. We became solid friends when I slept on his floor the night of the tornado, after getting locked out of my room during the power outage.

Now we stand in a bookstore and exchange notes on cummunal friends. Who’s married, who has babies, who is divorced, who moved home and other things like that. None of the sordid details. My life is boiled down to: work, some writing, still single. His is boiled down to: work, lots of art, serious relationship.

I guess that is what I should expect this weekend. An awful lot of, “Yeah, I was in Colorado, but I moved to Chicago a couple years ago. I was doing stand up. Now I’m working at an ice cream parlor, but I was in London last winter. Here’s my card, call me.” And I’ll do some oohing and aahing over baby pictures and engagement rings and promise to call or email.

Then I’ll just start dancing.

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