I don't know what's wrong with me. Time and time again I resolute to frequent my online journal. Post after post, I find different manners to express how sorry I am for neglect. I conjure up various tactics to win back your confidence and approval. All I want is your acceptance and willingness to forgive, but, like a kangaroo stuck in a mud pit, I remain stagnant, unable to trudge through to solid ground, waiting for a generous farmer willing enough to spare the extra shot to end my tiresome struggle. Metaphors aside, I do enjoy my time here rambling in cyber world, and it is a constant thought that I should make an effort to do so more frequently.

This time around there will be no list, enumerated or not, abridging my experiences since the last post. Doing so only encourages such activity in the future. This is not a permanent ban on all lists, but only a mere hiatus from the practice. Instead, I will recount an oddity that I encountered while at the office yesterday.

It was just like any other day at the office. Aimee' and Mildred were feigning conversation through brief glances away from their instant messaged laden computers. Andreas was rapidly pacing about the office pausing periodically only to take a bite from his Granny Smith. British Dan, while having tearfully said goodbye not one hour before, was still in my thoughts, with the empty stare of the water cooler desperately longing for the multinational small talk so enjoyed by Dan and myself. I had just finished reading Pitchfork's Overlooked Albums list, and had decided upon a break to rest the eyes. It was time to retrieve Andreas' mail, I decided.

The mailbox for Andreas is located on the fourth floor of the Biological Sciences Building West, four stories, or eight extra wide flights of stairs above my current position in the Microscopy and Imaging Center. It has become my recent custom to fly up these stairs at the quickest pace that my body allows. I enjoy throwing open the door to the stairwell and bounding up the stairs taking two sometimes four stairs in a single leap. I find this fun and a nice way to stretch the legs after spending a few hours couped up in the office. What made yesterday's mail run worth retelling was the guy who was standing on the landing between the first and second stories as I threw open the door. I noticed him as I was approaching the stairs for my first bound, but I chose to continue on as normal as I for saw no consequence telling otherwise. As I made my leap, the mysterious stranger also began to take flight. I continued up the stairs hearing the echoing clapping sound of my flip flops smacking against the concrete stairs. I could also hear the scrambling echo of the stranger's shoes, exactly one flight above mine, and just as hurried in their steps. I rounded the third story landing just as my stairwell racer crashed through the third story door. The remainder of my trek to the fourth story mail room was accompanied by thoughts of just exactly what was going on in the man's head, and why did he choose to scamper away as I bounding up the stairs? These are questions I fear will never be answered.