Nugatory.

If a post has no point, and no one is around to read it, will anyone care? If a life has no point, and no one is around to share it, does it really even matter?

There is something about the time change this year that's made me unusually expectant. Maybe it's the schizophrenic weather, or the cognizant dissonance of dark mornings and sunny evenings. Maybe it's how little I care about the things I should care about. A co-worker stood in the doorway of my office, a long dribble of coffee stain running parallel to the buttons on his shirt front. I patiently told him the big secret of coffee cup lids and coffee cup seams, and his eyes widened in amazement. "My God, you know everything, don't you?" No, not everything. Just the little things.

Like I know just the right time to track you down, to send a one-line email, to inspire you to pick up and move to DC, and I know that right time is right after you've announced your engagement. "She's a great girl!" you said, and of course she is, because that is no less than you deserve. My only surprise is that it's taken you so long when mutual friend after mutual friend, well . . . . "Well, I think I was waiting for someone that was never going to happen," you said. And aren't we all?

Well maybe not all. I'm waiting for the end of hockey season, when I can return to my regularly scheduled program of apathy and hiding out in bed with a book. I'm waiting for work to stop being so much work. I'm waiting for bikini weather, when I plan on spending all my free time lounging by the pool with a refreshing alcoholic beverage. I'm waiting for three babies and one wedding and four trips west and one trip north. I waited for my second gray hair, and I finally found it. I'm waiting for everything and nothing at all. But aren't we all?

No, probably not all. Probably just me.