I whisper your name (ayradyss) wrote,
I whisper your name
ayradyss

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The year in review...

I came, I saw, I wrote a journal entry.
Angel got me a T-shirt that reads "I'm blogging this", which is muchly entertaining. José the financial aid wizard has made my student loans process properly. I spent New Year's where I always spend New Years: at a party in Indianapolis that serves sparkling fruit juice for the ball drop and bans alcohol from the premises. I ran B-movie, as usual; the highlight this year being that I now understand how Gadgets are generated, so I forced my players to construct a Plutonium Irradiation Extractor from pencils, silk stockings, green paint, wire, and rope. It was their idea to use the power lines instead of batteries to power it; I am not responsible for the ensuing hilarity. I slept little. I was exhausted when I finished.
It was good. Good to see people. Good to play under Z'wad, who taught me once upon a time what a truly excellent gaming experience is like. Good to get away.

Good, also, to make my way to my mailbox and find in it (after much finagling with long objects, to make up for having forgotten my mailbox key) a flimsy green sheet of paper, my evaluation from $other_residency, where I am now certain my first choice lies. "A good knowledge base and the skill to apply it. Compassionate and good with patients." Honors pass. They like me. My heart was lifted and my decision sealed.

Struggled with the Internet and dual-routers at my father's house, I think it's working now to the limits of our ability. Comcast is smoking crack and insists on a service call despite our personal knowledge that his cable modem needs replaced.

Still have not heard back from Dr. B, and have now decided that I am not staying here. We will rent a house or large apartment wherever I wind up, until we sell this house - however long that takes. I am also not going to give up our plans to go to France for a week or so, though we must purchase tickets soon. I suppose, at this point, I will get in touch with him in early February.

I have my things for Nicaragua. We bought a cheap camera so that when I fall in the river I am not shorting out the good one. I will get my mother's backpack with frame from her tonight, and pack in it. I have my checklist. I have my reservations for the Albuquerque meeting, and I have my e-tickets to get there. What a jet-setter I'm turning out to be! And my mother feared for my sociability as a child.

I am leaving, O Best Beloved, on Thursday morning, January 6th. I will return on January 25th. I will possiblydrop a note from an internet café in Managua before I leave for Ocotal or after I return, but I would not count on it. I will be more silent, even, than I was this last month of December. But I am taking a brand-new Moleskine pocketbook full of excitingly blank pages, and perhaps I will transcribe every word.
I am leaving, and I have been so accustomed to being at home. I am leaving and my Angel will not be beside me. I know, I remember, that I was so very busy I did not have time always to be lonely, but I remember also hanging rosebushes curtaining glass-topped walls; dramatic cathedrals; stars so close and so beautiful that I wished only to share them. I remember and I wish he were coming.
I am leaving, but we leave to return. And I shall.
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