it must be a holiday weekend; not a soul is on internet molester. i mean instant messenger.

a few weeks ago when i went to the post office the postmaster extraordinaire smiled at me. she hadn't been there since i'd been back, and i'd begun to wonder if she had retired, but her name appeared on plaques all over the walls. "hello," she said, as she weighed my small packages. "are you back for good, or just visiting?"

very nearly ten years later, the postmaster knows who i am. "well, i've been here longer than most of you have been alive," she explained, when i said as much.

it's so, so, so, so small. at the drive-thru espresso joint (nina's pony espresso), there are frequent-buyer cards taped to the inside of the little hut, i assume for those known by the employees, who are, almost uniformly, tiny little blonde girls. i was scanning the names today, noting one high school jock family, infamous for the time one of the boys totaled the family blazer and was promply given a new one. there are other names i wonder about, first names only. do i know them? do i care?

my high school reunion is in less than two months. i have yet to RSVP.

in eugene on tuesday night i went first to the motley crue cover band's show. (er, excuse me. motley crue tribute band. with umlauts over the V in live and the R in wire. i kid you not.) pippin's roommate, at the door, said, "here, let me give you a stamp, pretend like you paid." while i was playing my best game of medieval madness ever, one of the big bouncer guys asked, "where's pippin?" he came back later to say, "don't you have high score on that thing yet?" and i thoroughly enjoyed watching him pump his fists in the air while live wire were playing. i watched familiar face after familiar face come in the door, all friends of pippin; the tall rockabilly looking blond, the boy with the hipster hair and the sweeeeet car, everyone who worked there, and eventually pippin himself, halfway through the set, already grinning.

the band was pretty good. i mean, for what they were. we threw lots of devil horns and shouted along with "kickstart my heart" and bitched about how they really should have played "don't go away mad (just go away)", a song which was once the holy grail of a late-night, multi-store quest. i saw jamie - finally - at the bar afterwards and talked to her about redyeing my hair.

there are two places one might see people. at the next one, next door, my drink came, unasked for, as a double. "now i officially feel like a regular," i said to pippin, as he added a dollar to the tip after noting the pint glass i was holding and admiring. we swore at the broken pinball machine and left after one drink, tired, stopping outside to admire the aforementioned car. one of the bartenders came out, asking, "why are you hanging out with this riffraff, molly?"

i don't know. but i wish they were my friends. somehow, i've gone quiet, i say little and smile a lot around these guys. they're such guys, you know, the sort that see me and think, oh, yes, the girl that's always with pippin. i don't think i'm perceived as friend material. such is life in a small town, i suppose. or perhaps not. i don't really know what to think of it, sometimes. the only one that seems a possible friend is pippin's roommate, who was giving me a hard time sunday night. "you know the love is there!" he said. "it's just trial by fire."

i grinned. "and i wouldn't have it any other way."

(this was after i threatened to hit him someday, and he threatened to like it.)

in two weeks i'll be in new york. in a little over a month, my favorite kiwi is coming to town. i have got to find a job. i am contemplating the massive state of oregon application form; there is a job open as an office assistant at the department of justice. do i want to wade through another twelve-page form for another job i won't get? it's even more depressing when you make a huge effort.

"why don't you move back to new york?" jo asked on the phone this afternoon, and all i could say is that it doesn't seem like the thing to do right now. but it might be the only thing to do if i want to be employed.

i think it might be time for another bout of soul-searching.

but i think it will have to wait until after tomorrow's holiday. tonight, the bar. a bar, anyway. "it's 80s night," pippin said earlier, "we've got to go somewhere else. i'll think of something before i call you later." tomorrow, some massive party in portland where it was suggested i bring a helmet if i want to partake in the mad firework shooting. or i can stay inside and be safe. i guess we'll see.

i almost don't really want to go. it's that whole being quiet thing. i fear getting tired early and passing out on a couch somewhere, somewhere i don't really want to be asleep.

almost ten p.m. time for my day to start.