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If viewed from the right perspective, and if certain points are ignored, my life right now looks almost idyllic. Moderately late rising, minimal stupidity to put up with at school (nobody talks much), lots of nice walks in a gorgeous campus that fulfills almost every single idea I have of beauty. I mean, the architecture is quasi-Roman, and if you look at it from the right direction, it seems almost Medieval, with the tiny wooden door to the basement (Valhalla, a bar-type place) under the sweeping stairs to the front entrance of some important building... And the trees! And I take joy in the fact that, even if I know very few of them, the people who are sharing the breathing space around me are probably smart. And I'm back home, having had some not-too-taxing, enjoyable exercise, but 3:15. Plenty of time to relax in the comp chair and browse the posts at Swiftpaw's forum, lurk on AIM for B, sew on my boot, paint on my picture, write in my dictionary, with Chichester Psalms on endless repeat. The only thing missing is interaction. I mean, I'm mostly a solitry animal, but I'm somewhat domesticated (I hate to admit it), enough to understand and value the concept of friends. I love, as friends, lessee.... Nia, Ally, Ev...three, B four, um... J five... Mel...maybe six people that I have seen or talked to within the last two years (not counting family, of course). One, Mr. White, two, Leslie... eight that I haven't. And the hole is growing. I feel so, so... I dunno, vulnerable. I LIKE you people, and I hate the feeling it leaves when I miss you. I want to show you what I've learned, created, discovered... it somehow seems more worthwhile when I have someone to share/discuss it with. Maybe I just miss the intelligent conversation or absolute silliness I can have with you. Maybe I'm spoiled. I miss touch, too. Zair comes up and sits on me, whacks me gently, rubs and gets rubs on my face, and it feels so right. Mama just left to get cards for my newly married cousin, and, before she went, she came up to the chair and wondered what I was doing. I wasn't doing much. She pet me, ran her fingers over my hair, under my chin, traced my face. I looked up at her and smiled. I LIKE that feeling. And then she commented, preety. Preety upside down. It felt really good. I mean, I can stand a little well-meant flattery from my mother, because I know she believes it and isn't just saying it. I like it when I know that people actually believe what they're saying when they say good things about me. Instead of pushing me up to break themselves down. That hurts. It like I'm being used. I don't like being compared, except by myself. Watch that get horrendously contradicted in a few minutes. Or not. I think I ran out of thoughts. I originally had a point, but I got distracted and now must go bask and lurk and turn up the music. Long live leather. Quaero Mihi Similes.
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From: (Anonymous)
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