Just found this little jewel in the other blog (I have not even looked at it for a while so you'll excuse me if I ever said you NEVER commented there). This kind of surprise makes it all -the logging on, the writing this when I should be working on the dissertation- worthy. Anyway, here you are writing the way I see you, the way I was telling you you should write more often: you're alive, you're precise all the while managing to be touching and raw. And what you point out to is true: we are more ourselves when we write. Scary.
"I wonder if all those things you talk about-- me being like you-- are the reasons you like me. Maybe you see yourself and are afraid of where I'm heading and want to save me... Maybe you want to save yourself through me. Maybe we're just a wreck and none of it will make sense in the morning...I prefer it that way...
When you write you seem like your more you and you get me so much more...But when we're together you seem not to...we don't connect enough... The fundamental particles of physics dicates that. Didn't you know? If only we both had realized that to begin with.
It would have save us from this Alician trip down the rabbit hole that we started on without any rain coats and the sky is threatening black. Where will the lightning strike? I guess we'll never know...At least there was some kind of premonition."
And you are right. We may just be a wreck and that's what makes this so .... compelling? Everybody stops to see the accident by the road. Or at least they reduce the speed. And we'll never know if I'm trying to save you or redeem myself. Maybe none of the above? I think I'm here for the party.
Cheers, babyboy.
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