Love doesn't make the world go round. Nor money. It's inertia and gravitation, and don't ever let anyone tell you different.

Back on the East Coast here, it's chilly and raining. It smells of rotting leaves, and the leaves stretch for yellow instead of red this year because the summer didn't bring enough rain. The sky shines a million shades of shifting pearl grey, and the rain pelts the leafy trees that vastly outnumber the evergreens.

I wish California looked like this.

Tomorrow I head back to Saratoga Springs, for the tenth anniversary of the founding of my cappella group, the Dynamics. There's been a flurry of emails from group members describing some of their experiences, most of which indicate to me that the adventures and trials of the six years since graduation have well subsumed most of the adventures of college in my memory. Really, I just don't remember this stuff. Endless road trips and concerts and drinking and girls and safeguarding my overly-intoxicating colleagues just pale in comparison to sailing in Mexico, two years of fighting in a psychotic relationship, hiking up Lassen Peak, or various other relationships and encounters I'm too lazy or gentlemanly to describe here. It should be nice to see everybody. My big goal here is to have my own selfish fun, and not take care of anybody--drawing boundaries for what I'm willing to do, and for what I believe others are capable of them. Really, if they want to streak the campus or sleep by the side of the road, that's fine.

Those are not hypothetical possibilities, by the way.

I hate having to navigate relationships with people. My best relationships are the ones where I can just talk, and the talking comes naturally, and we all see each other pretty clearly and we don't have to worry about approaching something the wrong way. We know and trust each other that if something comes out wrong, we're all committed to clear and honest communication, so rather than anger and huffiness, you get a raised eyebrow and "Okay, I'm not really sure what you mean. Can you explain it a little differently?". This is how low-drama relationships run. In high-drama relationships, that commitment isn't there, and instead of trying to better understand, the conversant just reacts. It's a decidedly un-chill way to be.

Huh. This isn't how I felt, this isn't how my life was, a month ago. What changed? What happens now?