My car is dead. I do not know if I will resurrect it. The expense is unwelcome but not insurmountable so I don't think that is the real reason I can't decide its fate. I have been riding my bike to work for the past two days. I enjoy it. I've had the bike for almost a month, actually, and I hadn't ridden it at all. I'm starting to think I don't do anything unless I absolutely have to...

My delightful roommates and I were doling out our daily requirement of jokes at others' expense earlier tonight. We mocked our friend for getting back together with a guy who didn't seem very nice at all. Someone said that guys never change and I laughingly chimed agreement. Now as I fulfill my daily requirement of pensively listening to Sarah Mclachlan, I wonder. There are times when I miss someone terribly and do not have the means of communicating with them. I mean, I could contact them, but doubt they would be very responsive. If someone chooses to forget you, allowing them to do so seems to be the polite thing to do. And if I'm nothing else, at least I'm polite.

And yet, somewhere there is a younger version of myself, perhaps scowling, maybe looking cold and aloof, or twisting away from an embrace. This me is locked in that moment, encased in the amber of someone's memory. I don't like it.

Not much I can do about memory. Memories can be true, memories can be false, but every memory is real, it exists, and it does have an effect. Thems the rules.

But if I can't change then why worry? Every memory of me is as good as any other. Same old Guillermo, every time. I guess I can live with that.