I was patiently waiting for the 5 o'clock hour to end so I could call my brother to wish him a happy birthday. With only a few minutes left, I decided to lie on the floor in my room after cranking up the iTunes volume in here. I used to lie on the floor all the time in college; it helped me relax and provided a welcome change of perspective.
The hard support of the floor felt good as I relaxed into it, songs by Alanis Morissette drifting in. I thought of Buffet's dislike of her smashed together lyrics. I told myself I'd get up when another artist came on: I was procrastinating what I'd been eager to do several minutes before.
The conversation my brother and I always seem to have now replayed in my mind. When he asks what I'm doing, planning, going to do, I just want to say: it's the same loser-y answers as always, so let's talk about you; but it's his birthday, so I don't want to make him feel badly. So now I'm trying to psyche myself up to answer questions for which I have no compelling or promising answers. It's been a long time since he's had a reason to be proud of me. I must seem a morass of wasted potential; but then he doesn't really know me anymore.