Sometimes I can't think of a title.

Oh, I suppose I am getting used to things, aren't I? Am I? I went for a run today. The air smelled of pine and every sense is used to salt water wind. The evergreen air is a mile nearer to the sun than my dear seaside route. My lungs feel it, and so does my skin. My heart has to work more. In more than one way, I think, but we are talking about running now. I am talking about running now. After three stunningly long miles, I landed in the grass. It's brown still, and coarse. It crunches a little and I had to avoid pine cones, but I was determined. I will lay here, look up at the blue sky, cloudless in the way that Colorado tends to be, and be happy.

Offices are the lowest depth of misery. Basement offices about two levels below that lowest depth. And I get it. People do this. Most people do this, if we are going to talk percentages. It's the real world that I never wanted to be part of.
I am used to weekdays that blend into weekends with few seams and no bumps. The fact that you have to work does not particularly matter, unless it's on a boat trip day. You are in the sun. That same sun will still be out when you leave work. So when my roommate and cousin asked what I am doing on my Friday night, he thought it strange that I am not, in fact, doing anything. It never would have occurred to me that this was strange. But I'm getting it, I think. People live for their weekends in this life. Maybe they haven't figured out how to live their weekdays all the way. Or, more likely, I just haven't figured out the rest of it all the way. But there are parks to run in. And the sun is here, too.

The walls are still up, I am finding. I am beginning to understand that everyone does this. It is not necessarily some offset consequence of the way I have been living, which was my theory for more than a while. People protect themselves. In my case, it is because I assume that everyone is going to leave. Or that I will. So getting close to someone is baiting heartache, which I have certainly done my share of. Anyone here ever start seeing someone when you know you are leaving that particular land mass in a month or so? I have. More than once. More than twice. Anyone made a best friend knowing that you probably won't ever see them again past a named, ticket-purchased date? I've done that, too. More times than will fit on ten fingers.

The assumption is that everything moves more slowly in the islands. Island time, they call it-- a term I have always found irritating. We walk slowly there. We breathe a little more deeply. The Post Office is in far less of a hurry, and you can stand in line at the bank for more than an hour if you go at lunchtime on payday. But friendships in places like that are speed trains. There is simply no time to waste, and no need. You are unmasked at hello. Every weirdness, every neurosis, every tic. They all come out and shake hands. When no one is permanent, there is no reason to hide. It is an etch-a-sketch life. Nine months, one quick shake, and most of it falls out. Why bother with small talk?

It is different here. I am slowly learning this. Everyone is guarded a bit, I think, not entirely willing to be exactly who they are. Here, there is time. And there is permanence. So what, really, is the rush? There are stigmas and social norms, none of which exist in St. John unless you are a tourist, in which case you are inevitably judged as such and therefore not given any investment. The thing is, you can take your time here. Patience has different meanings in different places. Steps towards others are timid and small, as you watch yourself and you watch everyone else and make sure that the conversations are taking place as they should, with no intrusions or overreaches. I have to keep myself from jumping in with my eyes closed, as I usually do. Asking questions you're not supposed to ask yet. Coming off as nosy when I am just interested. And uninterested in wasting time. I need to work on my small talk, and how to tread lightly.

For now, I will continue being the weird kid. Until I figure this place out.
And I will sleep, because tomorrow will be my first full day in the sun since October. Maybe I can get those tan lines to come back.