Hello, friends and fellow Melothespians. It is I, Eric Lawrence Jeffus, back to regale you with tales of the mundane and uneventful happenstance of my everyday life.

*townspeople rejoice*

As far as the title of this entry is concerned, it is simply one I have been wanting to use for a while; I don't actually feel quite as dark as that wondrous French would have you believe. The quote is from a poem entitled "De Profundis Clamavi" (Latin: "From the Most Profound Depths") by one of my favourite poets, Charles Baudelaire. As is typical of my tastes in reading, he is French and quite dark. My favourite poem of his, however, is "Reversibility," found below in its translation:

Reversibility

Angel of gaiety, have you tasted grief?
Shame and remorse and sobs and weary spite,
And the vague terrors of the fearful night
That crush the heart up like a crumpled leaf?
Angel of gaiety, have you tasted grief?

Angel of kindness, have you tasted hate?
With hands clenched in the dark, and tears of gall,
When Vengeance beats her hellish battle-call,
And makes herself the captain of our fate,
Angel of kindness, have you tasted hate?

Angel of health, did ever you know pain,
Which like an exile trails his tired footfalls
The cold length of the white infirmary walls,
With lips compressed, seeking the sun in vain?
Angel of health, did ever you know pain?

Angel of beauty, do you wrinkles know?
Know you the fear of age, the torment vile
Of reading secret horror in the smile
Of eyes your eyes have loved since long ago?
Angel of beauty, do you wrinkles know?

Angel of happiness, and joy, and light,
Old David would have asked for youth afresh
From the pure touch of your enchanted flesh;
I but implore your prayers to aid my plight,
Angel of happiness, and joy, and light.

But enough depressing matters. Let us move on to more joyful things, shall we? Let us ignore the fact that my first quarter of college did not go quite according to plans; that my home life is degrading further with every day that passes; that for the month of Christmas Break I am unemployed, and thus living off my last paycheck; that my life, as a whole, is simply spiraling into the abyss, plummeting beyond whatever feeble control I once held over it.

Yes, let us disregard all of that. I have met someone. No, not merely someone; perhaps the One. Who is she? I shall call her Aurore, the French form of Aurora, which is fitting, as she is the dawning sun on the tenebrous night that was my life, its glowing rays piercing the shadows to reveal a glorious morning. Overly dramatic? Yes, of course. Do you expect anything less from me at this point?

Anyway, back to Aurore. I met her at a two-day Debate tournament held this past Friday and Saturday; you see, I am the unofficial "Off-Campus Adviser" for the Debate team of my old high school, Diamond Ranch, and I regularly act as a judge at whatever tournaments the team attends. This particular tournament was uneventful, for the most part, until the first night...

I was lucky enough to avoid judging the last round of the first day, so I was simply wandering around the main building, the "courtyards" of which acted as spots to congregate for teams waiting for their next round. I walked by a group of girls, and noticed a copy of "A Prayer For Owen Meany" by John Irving lying on the ground. I happened to have read this particular book over the summer, so I remarked on what a wonderful novel it is, and how the girl who was reading it should check out another superlative Irving novel, "The World According to Garp." After that I continued walking, and attempted to find an electrical outlet where I could plug in my laptop, so I could work on my latest story. I found one in a nearby hallway, and hunkered down to get to work.

A few minutes later, a couple girls began walking toward me down the hall. I recognised one of them as a rather attractive girl who had been sitting with the owner of the book, and she recognised me as well, for she immediately said, "It's the book guy!" She introduced herself as Aurore, and we began talking. As far as I can tell (and my judgment in such matters is not to be trusted), we hit it off. She's brilliant (disappointed with a 1320 on her SAT, a full 60 points above my score [although to be fair I didn't really try]), British (raised in Surrey, moved to Southern California eleven years ago), and beautiful, with a wonderful sense of humour. And she's an aspiring writer! (She's already written three novels, and is in the process of getting a fourth published.) We talked, joked, and got to know each other for over an hour. When we both had to leave, she asked me if I wanted a hug (I did, natch), and if I would be judging again the next day (I would be, natch). We hugged, and bade each other farewell until tomorrow.

On Saturday it was a bit more hectic; we both had rounds we were responsible for, whether we be judging them or competing in them. Nevertheless, Aurore asked if I wanted to do something, such as go check out the swap meet across the street from the college at which the tourney was held. I eventually caught up with her and her friends at the swap meet, as it took me a while to sort out whether I had to judge a round at the time, and her friends had already been raring to go. At the swap meet, we walked around, talked a bit, made a few jokes, then made our way back. Since we both had a couple hours free, we had another scintillating conversation, punctuated by jokes and some of her hilarious (and very well-done) impressions.

Unfortunately, she then had to go to a round; I waited for a while for her to get back. When she did, we didn't have much time before she had to dash off to watch a couple of her teammates in a match, so I mentioned what a shame it would be if we simply disappeared from each other's lives in such a manner. She jokingly ó I hope! ó said, "Yeah, yeah, I'll give you my e-mail address." I furnished her with a pen, she did so, we hugged again, and she whisked out of my life.

Aurore has been on my mind since that moment. It is difficult to explain how I feel about her, only because I really haven't had such feelings before. In that precious couple hours, I felt like everything in the world was meant to be, like the darkness that shrouded my life had suddenly been dispelled, and something wonderful brought to light. I am reminded of "Serendipity," a charming film starring John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale as two people destined to be together; although their time together was short, its memory was haunting, tantalising. I doubt Aurore feels this way about the time we spent talking, but it certainly had a profound effect on me. Over a day later, it pains my heart to think of her; I miss her terribly. To quote "10 Things I Hate About You," a great remake of Shakespeare's "The Taming of the Shrew": "I burn; I pine; I perish." Pathetic? Perhaps, but this is who I am. Love me or hate me, I'll probably never change.

In short, I just want to see her again. She lives closer to me than most of the girls I meet (I once met a girl who lived ten hours away), so it isn't an impossibility. There is one snag, however: Aurore mentioned a boyfriend in passing. Now, personally, when a girl mentions a significant other, however innocently, I take that as a sign that I am to back off immediately. Those two unassuming words are enough to lacerate the already tattered vestiges of my heart, and I have to make a conscious effort not to let dismay reveal itself in my face. Now, the odd thing is this: the female friends I have spoken to about the circumstances have a very different perspective. They suggest that it's a good sign that she mentioned a boyfriend. Apparently, either that means she, too, felt chemistry, and didn't want to feel guilty; or, and I think this is less likely, she doesn't actually have a boyfriend, and she is simply trying to make me feel jealous. Somehow I don't think that's quite her style.

Of course, that revelation somewhat flings a rusted monkey wrench into the already crumbling cogs of any plans I might have had of a romantic relationship with Aurore. Now, this is not necessarily a bad thing; indeed, I wouldn't have the guts to actually ask her out anyway (damn my cowardice!), so perhaps it is best that we remain friends. In any case, I merely wish to get to know her better, and that can easily be done without making any implications otherwise. I intend to e-mail her sometime this week, although exactly when I am not yet certain. This is another subject my female friends are torn on: one says that I should way until Friday, as this is simply how one plays the "game"; another says that I should e-mail her whenever I want, to hell with looking "overeager." I'll have to give some thought to the matter. I suppose I will just play the situation by ear.

Well, that's the extent of "All the news that's fit to whine," so I shall sign off (it is, after all, 6 a.m.), and leave you to dreams of sugarplums or sugar daddies (whichever you prefer); perhaps I shall dream of Aurore tonight, appropriately around the time at which the rosy fingers of Dawn coax the Earth out of her slumber, wipe the gunk from her eyes, and bathe her in warm light. Until next we meet, I bid you farewell. Au revoir, tout le monde!

[Exit Orpheum.]

[Listening to: Does This Look Infected? (Sum 41); Steal This Album! (System of a Down); Songs About Jane (Maroon 5).]