Right now life is a slurry of goodbyes and re-introductions; changes in temperature, ambiance, the furnace breaks, the filk convention looms, the tooth is snaggled, Granny’s dead, I’m finally back on the ERP at work, I am up again and spinning at a great rate of knots. The distance between life and the blog is bigger than normal, and I have few venues (not none, fortunately) for venting about it. Some things are burning brightly, some are swallowed by silence and distrust of the future. The major thing is allowing myself to be happy by how genuinely pleased people are to see me. I feel like I’m home, and I’m happy.
My back hurts. Commuting subjects me to lots of interesting loading on my lower back. This is making me crabbier than normal.
One of my coworkers dreamed I was coming back to work. I don’t know whether to believe it and I’m not really worried about it either way. I’ve had one precognitive dream that I remembered, so although my sample size is small my willingness to believe is large.
Pocky. It’s what’s for dinner. I bought Robbie B lunch.
Long hours of sleep, punchuated in the morning with traffic noise. Lest my mother be upset, that typo was deliberate….. now let me wander off my rails again and think about how we can set up an Aspie friendly place for the boys to do their mourning. Because as sure as Darwin’s winnowing fan claims us all, I can think of four of my blood kin who need to go off and have their own corner to grieve in. Of such are the ways of the accommodationist, the ever blooming woman of the boundary layer, who would be, of course, me.
