To CitySplat.

To CitySplat, to meet my Ma, and stay three nights there before coming home. Ma will come home too, see the block, stay for three nights, then she's off home again.

The spare room is tidy and I've nearly finished my work - just a tiny bit of talking-through a report with my boss before I catch the bus this morning.

Thea's new crush.

I have a new crush.
Dorothy Porter.
She's a poet.
Oh my god, what a poet.
Please, Ms Porter, marry me.

I... um.... make an okay cheesey thing .... and I like too much red wine... and I play really ~great~ scrabble... and ... err.... I'm quite a catch except for the teesy weensy problem of being a re-associating identity centre who believes herself to be a thin, dark-haired lesbian called Thea - though that probably wouldn't be an insurmountable reality gap (there are diets, there is hair dye) if it weren't for all the OTHER re-associating identity centres living here all of whom have their own ideas about who and what they are and what they fancy.
And that's just the obstacles from my side of the church.
*sigh*
It's never gonna happen.

Lucky for me 'hopeless' is one of my favourite kinds of love.
*swoon*

Negotiating with doves.

Yesterday was the second (and last) Bugsplat Writing Workshop. We gave the teacher our story "Negotiating with doves." She says she'll read the first three chapters of our novel. Scary.

We had lunch with Honey and Megan at Castenada's, and then Megan and I went to the group session in the afternoon. There's another one today - Megan and I will attend together, is the plan. Yesterday was pretty good.

Cross posting porpoises.

*giggle*
Something about being at cross porpoises and schools of red herring.

There was a post, should have been here, but ended up at Had a Dolly. We're trying to maintain some kind of distinction here. But the angst runneth over. Castle angst HERE. Absolute misery: THERE. Got it? Okay, then.

And what am I doing here?
Guess I'd better get back to work.

A flock of snow geese.

This quote;
Love is the difficult realization that something other than oneself is real.
Iris Murchoch (via Sassy, thank you)

rang true. Perhaps we've become unreal.

Meanwhile, back in reality, we protect ourselves from intimacy by keeping secret our true nature, and then we protect ourselves from intimacy by revealing our true nature. Stephen sent us a beautiful card once about the snow goose, who does not have to try to be white.
And how terrifying it is to be understood.