I Less-Than-Three Recycling

The life of an ice cube is somewhat square. Hardly adventurous. One drifts in a sea of beverages that require cooling dispensing droplets of water. Not the material that adventure novels are made of. So when an opportunity for unmitigated adventure boldly presents itself the principle reaction of an ice cube is to jump at the occasion whilst sublimating any frustration it might have felt prior to the occasion. This year I have several unmitigated adventures ahead! First, a meeting with a guy I've met in this ether (virtual space). Second, a trip to NY - the city that has spawned Interpol. Should I get more excited I would most certainly explode into a million crystalline pieces. Isn't it lucky then that I happen to know that Mother Nature & I share a passion: we both love recycling.

I recycle all things; mostly, books. I call it my book search & rescue squad, which at the moment consists of only me. I'm not at all saddened by the lack of comrades, for I often spurn the specious fraternal familiarity between men which - with an objective eye could be construed as latent homosexual; a fact which most men will dispute to the death - they deem as "male bonding". On a side note: I find the term bonding slightly scientific & somewhat alarming for I always picture the relationship to be of a parasitic nature in which one of either party syphons off energy whilst the other slavishly fulfills its tasks as the host. Ah, well. I love recycling books. I have recycled a great many, and am always on the look-out for books that need saving.

These last few days have been a pinch more than hectic which has considerably affected my mental resilience. Too tired, too strained, too many people wanting a piece of my attention (some silently demanding a lion's share). I've had it. I've got myself into a little tiff with my ex-room mate. Let me start by saying that I completely understand his objections to my behaviour, and feel genuinely sorry. If you have sensed that presently will follow a "however" your intuition is close attuned, and duly rewarded. However, I cannot help but feel a little irritation myself. I suspect that he expects me to treat him as I treat, or have treated, my other friends. (In general, I do. If I have made an appointment which is loose I tend not to cancel if something comes up. I know this is a bad trait; I try to change my behaviour, but as most of you can attest one cannot change one's behaviour at a drop of a hat.) I believe he fails to understand that he's not like my other friends since he is entirely a different person, that my history with him differs greatly from the ones I have constructed with my other friends (meaning: I have never dated any of them), and that the relationships I have with my friends are far from interchangeable. I don't know. I can speculate about the why but I'd rather not. Speculation is as specious as "male bonding".

I'll leave you with a little poem by Sylvia Plath:

Cinderella
The prince leans to the girl in scarlet heels,
Her green eyes slant, hair flaring in a fan
Of silver as the rondo slows; now reels
Begin on tilted violins to span

The whole revolving tall glass palace hall
Where guests slide gliding into light like wine;
Rose candles flicker on the lilac wall
Reflecting in a million flagons' shine,

And glided couples all in whirling trance
Follow holiday revel begun long since,
Until near twelve the strange girl all at once
Guilt-stricken halts, pales, clings to the prince

As amid the hectic music and cocktail talk
She hears the caustic ticking of the clock.