This was written around 1 a.m. this morning when I couldn't sleep because it's been too damned hot here lately. It's insomnia and heat induced melancholia that I'm not completely proud of but when I started writing this blog, and have reasserted to myself many times over the years, I vowed (yes, vowed) to represent all of me here, not just the funniest, most intelligent and coherent parts, but the dumbassed and ridiculous parts as well. So forgive the adolescent seriousness of this post but I wanted to put it out here, 'cause I'm masochistic that way...

The song plays and my thoughts turn to you, as they always do. So many years gone by. Do you remember? Do I occur to you at odd moments, when some random recollection fits itself into the grooves of your brain and dislodges thoughts of so many hours spent writing, talking, hoping, longing. I think of you, wonder how you are as your voice floats through the landscape of my memory. I decide to seek you out, to see if you are within reach. A click here, a search there and you are in front of me. A small smile lifts the corner of my mouth, random memories shuffling through forgotten pathways. Should I try? Dare I send the offer out into the ether to possibly be cast aside? I’m overthinking, as I always do, and so a trivial message is written, the request is sent, electronic pulses traveling across the miles to you. The wonders of this age bring your acceptance so quickly. I eagerly drink up the moments of your life to which I am now privy and I see that you are indeed well. As my hungry eyes pass over your pages, I realize there are many later models of me leaving you their own messages, making their own commentary. Where we began with pen and paper, you now have electronic versions of me casting their bottles onto your shore. My unrealistic, and frankly silly, expectations, as ill-defined as they were, flutter to the floor like dust motes settling onto the forgotten surfaces of an abandoned house. Reality doesn’t always crash into our existence. Sometimes it slyly eases into being, waiting with infinite patience for its true form to be recognized. Reality has cast its harsh light on the foolish ideas of an overly sentimental woman.


Every morning when I finally drag my ass out of bed, I take out The Tofunator. Whilst I wait for her to complete her morning micturition (I just found that on - I so love vocabulary and the internet), I generally try to wake myself up or fall asleep standing up, whichever works best.

The other morning was a "trying to struggle out of a coma" morning and while walking around in a circle and slapping myself upside the head, I observed some writing in chalk on the concrete pad in the backyard. This in itself is not a strange occurrence as living with a 3-year old lends itself to chalk drawings and such on every conceivable outside writing surface in the vicinity of the house. However, on this particular occasion it appeared that her 14-year old brother had been engaged in the aforementioned chalk writing activity with her. I didn't get a picture (I don't own a camera and my cell phone is all but dead) but here is what I saw:

The Nephew's Name
The Niece's Name
{squiggly drawing}

As I had not yet quite managed to fully regain consciousness (I am so not a morning person), I had to blink a few times, look away and then look back to fully absorb that my nephew had chosen to write the longest word in the English language while playing outside with his sister. Not something you see every day.

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