was it all a dream? or maybe a nightmare

I'm not sure whether to feel happy or sad.

That's what it boils down too. Earlier, I was as happy as a duck in a dirty ol' reflecting pool... But I've switched entirely to being a duck with no water and no wings.

I've had a roller coaster of a weekend.

I spent the weekend with some of the best girls I know. They lifted me up and made me be happy.

Saturday morning started off... Not well. We planned on riding the drumline bus with our many drumline friends, but ended up being bumped all the way to bus one. (He was on bus two.) After fighting for seats, we finally got going.

It did get better, and we enjoyed ourselves greatly, The Blonde, The Redhead, and I.
"Open Thanksgiving 'til... llam?" And the many other Bush comments.

Stories and mall shopping and creepers and chinese food that we can never finish.

He never once said hi.

Then, Navy Stadium.

I couldn't make myself excited like I wish I could be. I couldn't stop thinking about other things.

Until I walked through the gates. Then it became real. I got a small chill; nothing like rookie year though. And even then, I couldn't help thinking of him.

Pre-show block ritual: Fist bumps with friends. Eyes of Pride.

Performance. Disappointment. Pictures. Smiles.

Bassett's performance: better than ours. Then food adventures with stale pretzels and return to stands.

Frozen toes. Sprints around the stadium. Under tents, dodging chairs and tables.
"I think my butt is frozen together!"

He sat with his rookies and kept them warm.

We arrive at the hotel. Chaos reigns. Crashing birthday parties and stealing Mountain Dew.

Back in the room: "Imma shove this cone up your cooter!"

On the phone til 3:30. I came the closest I've ever come to actually talking with my brother. The wonderful Readhead got him to say he loves me. It made me so happy. It was a bit of a milestone, and I think she may actually get us talking. Eventually.

Waking up at 6:30. Maybe two hours of sleep. Crappy breakfast. Hair straighteners and loud music.

D.C.

Pictures and familiar trees and memorials and more pictures and dirty reflecting pools and stairs with a view and laying under a monument, realizing just how small you really are, looking up into the sky with a pathway straight up right under your feet.

If only it were real.

He spent the day with his younger female friends. His absense was all too noticeable.

On the bus ride home was when I hit my stage of pure happiness. As those around me slept and I listened to music turned up too loud, I had a normal conversation with him. Normal by our old standards. And it gave me hope that we could be best friends again.

But when we got off the buses and unloaded the truck, he hardly said a word to me. Not even a goodbye when I left.

So many mixed emotions, but I think this weekend was a great weekend overall.

So give this dirty old duck back her wings.
I'll take off and fly far far away.
I'll soar high over the pain and the hurt.

But that which goes up must come down.
Eventually.