When I was in first grade I fell in love with a girl named Janell. Which for a shy first grader means that in spite of the fact I interacted with her no more than one would expect in the typical first grade classroom environment, I thought she was the greatest thing ever and we were going to end up together and everything in the world would be perfect and groovy. I would talk about her constantly to my parents and to my friend Stephen. Hell, I wrote about book about her (a piece of paper, folded like a book, with a story inside about us kissing). And if we had to pick partners for anything, guess who I'd pick. But at one point I asked by dad what he thought the chance of us marrying was, and he responded with a very unromantic 0%.
But I didn't let that dissuade me. All through elementary school I harbored this crush. The fates conspired to keep us apart, we were never in the same class again. Not that that would have helped any, most likely. At some point I think she ended up with a boyfriend, however that works at the elementary school level. But my resolve was unshaken.
Then middle school happened, and about halfway through 6th grade I found out that she was going out with some guy would spray binaca breath spray up his nose. And that pretty much killed my interest in Janell.
Here's the catch. One winter day in first grade I was wandering around aimlessly at recess, as I was wont to do. And who comes up to me but Janell, and she says "I'm playing with you today". Alright!
So we walk around together and she leads me to some ice that people are playing on, despite that being strictly prohibited. And she says come on, let's go on the ice. I sort of silently protest and she says I can hold her hand. Well I still protest--staying out of trouble is very big at this point in my life--and we don't go on the ice!
But still, that day was the triumphant moment of my first grade life. But the next day, status quo was resumed.
There are some days in life that just don't make sense. They don't seem to fit in with the established cast of characters, or the context of the past, or the context of the days after. In some sense, life seems to follow a more logical progression without it.
I think it's pretty fair to say that some people are more spontaneous than others. And I'm not particularly spontaneous. Whenever something like this happens, I'm left trying to force the day into some logical progression of events. And I drive myself crazy thinking of what I did to both cause this day and to cause the return to normalcy. What had I done in the immediate past? How did I fail to capitalize on this outlier?
Really there's probably nothing. It's just some more or less random decision that I'm caught up in. But fight it as I may, I inevitably crave logic and reason. I manufacture stories I know are farces. And then it eventually drops.
One day, when I die, and if there's some sort of god, and it's a cool sort of toss-a-football-around-and-let-me-pick-his-brain-for-eternity god, I think these will be first things I ask about.