Sandy and Kirsten Belong Together

Becca and I are back together. Of course we are. We always end up here and I don’t think either of us minds.

I went to the bank and pulled out fifty US dollars. Never held American currency before—it’s oddly clean, weirdly light, feels slightly fake in the hand. I stood there looking at it longer than made sense.

What I’m actually anxious about is next Wednesday. The O.C. finale, and I still haven’t fully processed that Caleb died. Didn’t see it coming at all. The Ryan and Trey storyline is nastier than the show usually goes—there’s something genuinely bleak about it that doesn’t feel like it belongs in the same zip code as the Cohen kitchen. Theresa will resurface before the season’s done, I’m certain of that—if not now, then next season, right when everything else has calmed down. Sandy and Kirsten better make it. I genuinely can’t picture the show without them working.

Business accounting exam tomorrow. Haven’t studied. I have this recurring feeling during those classes that I’m a calculator running someone else’s program—that the entire enterprise of memorizing how to do what a computer already does faster and better is a kind of insult to time. Like the person who spent years computing pi by hand right up until the moment a machine did it in a second. That’s me in that classroom. At least I got a new HP printer. My Mac can talk to a printer now. Small victories.