I love the repartee Stuart and I have.
He's staring at GhettoCyb.org staring at the 0000 0001 0010 0011... Muttering "what is UP with the numbers?!?" and I look at him and read: "0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...", then look at him again and exclaim: "You can't read binary?!?"
On the other hand, he can read government dissertations that I can barely get through the abstract of.
One could say that our, ah, abilities are good complements of each other. As in orthogonal ones.
It was tough getting back into the swing of anything this morning. I left my access card on the bookshelves, I carted five dozen bagels into the office, only half-sang my lessons on the way in. Waking up, I couldn't remember which watering pot I usually use first, on which plants, who gets how much cuddles and drinkies.
Sometimes a glimpse into my brain isn't the most comforting thing, is it?
Montreal is becoming more and more difficult to visit. Between the nervous hope yet underlying hopelessness of communication with my newfound parents, to the inability to see anyone, let alone everyone, as much as I would like to.
Watching my boys change without me, is even harder though. Watching Marc's eyes grow old, watching him learn his first compromises in his lifetime. Seeing the hurt in Eric's eyes that I don't call him enough, seeing indecision on Cfoo's face where doubt never broke the surface before. Hugging Dan and Nancy and knowing I won't be able to tomorrow. Wiccanfest, everyone promised semi-solemnly. Sarongs and sunshine and hearts warmer than the blazing sky.
Leaving Montreal I drive into this city, flat and square and concrete and it takes entire moments to remind myself
I am happier here than I have been in a long time, despite the ugly landscape
I am accomplishing things, finding new faces to love,
I have to remind myself that it took so many years before I found the boys, by chance, all of us on acid at a party where the floor bubbled beneath my feet.
Marc was my first adult conversation. Since then I have had so many that I've begun taking them for granted.
And I have to think back to this diary to remember that even when I did live in town, I never saw my boys, my lifestyle and theirs, and the way we run until the wind loses its breath, had us communicating more by Everquest and email.
And yes, they are changing and calming down, but realistically I know that the great fantasy of seeing them, my first real family, every day is a pipe dream made of paper.
But that's realistically. In my heart they are growing and living and crying and suffering and I am not there to experience it with them, the way they did for me. I am not there to cry with them, to let them cry.
And this weekend, I didn't even get a chance to call Marv or cf or Mystie or Steven at all.
This weekend I laughed the great belly laughs that I so desperately needed, but each time they are just slightly more tainted with unrequitedness.
And yes, I do this to myself. It's working out a solution that I haven't quite managed, that's all.