Sunday, December 03, 2006
...And then the drunk guy touched my hair.
An update on actual life, perhaps? A brief foray into the more corporeal world where people you can see speak in words you cannot. Cannot see, that is. As opposed to the internet existence where the tables are turned and the people have to send bits of their soul as best they can via so many bits per second and a soupรงon of hypertext. There have been a few parties. Varying degrees of sobriety. Kissing (entirely sober). Internet Relay Calling (less sober). Ladies' room conclaves (a bit un-sober). Laundry-doing, to abolish the smell of ashtrays and drunkards (wretchedly sober).
It has been a good week and some. Although there were slight indentations in the otherwise shining and shimmery splendor of this last while, I have lived to tell the tale with a smile. And a rather good hair day. Birds are flying and love is floating and bees haven't stung anyone I know for many moons.
My brain is currently attempting to create a reality in which I can take credit for a date that happened over the weekend. Not a date of mine, but of a lovely-wonderful girl and a clever boy who I can't believe I never daydreamed of putting together. I'm not one for matchmaking, but I do love a good "what if...?" scenario. The match is perfect in my limited assessment and I have "awww"ed and "squee"ed to exhaustion at the very idea. I wish them many many happy days and nights and spaces between the hours.
My own squishy feelings are much obliged to an aptly matured batch of XY. Which is my own convoluted way of saying that after three years of wishy-washy rootlessness in North Carolina (not unhappy detachment, but a distinct feeling of transience here) I have succumbed to actual attachment. Hopefully, and I do have hopes, we survive transplantation when the time comes. I'm quite happy. But there is much to be learned, still. It is all a marvelous thing. -- G 'Bye, Sonya -- . ( 3.12.06 ) .
An update on actual life, perhaps? A brief foray into the more corporeal world where people you can see speak in words you cannot. Cannot see, that is. As opposed to the internet existence where the tables are turned and the people have to send bits of their soul as best they can via so many bits per second and a soupรงon of hypertext. There have been a few parties. Varying degrees of sobriety. Kissing (entirely sober). Internet Relay Calling (less sober). Ladies' room conclaves (a bit un-sober). Laundry-doing, to abolish the smell of ashtrays and drunkards (wretchedly sober).
It has been a good week and some. Although there were slight indentations in the otherwise shining and shimmery splendor of this last while, I have lived to tell the tale with a smile. And a rather good hair day. Birds are flying and love is floating and bees haven't stung anyone I know for many moons.
"....book about lovers and all that."There are great things afoot at the Circle K, my friend. Disregard the fact (known or not as is may be) that I have never set foot inside said rotund alphabet character. My best friend of many years is unofficially-officially engaged. Everything but a ring and public announcement. That means that I am feverishly planning all the different ways I can travel 2500+ miles this coming April. Preferably by car, even though it will take about three days. I like the freedom that a car gives. A plane forces one to leave at an exact time. A car is flexible. Well, not all that flexible. It's rather thick metal, you see. But it lends flexibility to scheduling.
"Gah! I hate that word."
"What word? Lover?"
"Yes! It's so.... oh, blech. I just hate it."
"Me too!"
"It is so stupid!"
"I know. I mean, damn."
"Actually, I like it."
"What?"
"I like 'lover'- it's nice and, you know, whatever."
"You would."
"I know. Damn romantic hippie bitch."
My brain is currently attempting to create a reality in which I can take credit for a date that happened over the weekend. Not a date of mine, but of a lovely-wonderful girl and a clever boy who I can't believe I never daydreamed of putting together. I'm not one for matchmaking, but I do love a good "what if...?" scenario. The match is perfect in my limited assessment and I have "awww"ed and "squee"ed to exhaustion at the very idea. I wish them many many happy days and nights and spaces between the hours.
My own squishy feelings are much obliged to an aptly matured batch of XY. Which is my own convoluted way of saying that after three years of wishy-washy rootlessness in North Carolina (not unhappy detachment, but a distinct feeling of transience here) I have succumbed to actual attachment. Hopefully, and I do have hopes, we survive transplantation when the time comes. I'm quite happy. But there is much to be learned, still. It is all a marvelous thing. -- G 'Bye, Sonya -- . ( 3.12.06 ) .