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I'm pretty much all ready to leave. Cousin K is up & awake. My hair can stay braided all day, right? We shouldn't need chains.

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Rest stop. I was up way late watching The X-Files way too late last night. I got about 5 hours of sleep in consequence.

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We're making good time. 53 miles to go. Two rest stops. Dark brown afghan stripe finished with a little yarn to spare.

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Back in Pacifica. Guide dog Aunt sometimes cannot park. Photo to follow after edited for removal of identifiable details.

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Aunt-Fayoumis is with us now. A wild night is preordained. Rain is all over. We are taking the Emperor Norton bridge again.

Hooray the Holidays!

It seems that the Pastafarian celebration in the December/January season is called, simply, "Holiday". I have let Guide Dog Aunt know about this. I have also let her know about the general idea of renaming the Bay Bridge to the Emperor Norton Bridge. Guide Dog Aunt is very good about catching memes. I have the idea that she'll be calling it the Emperor Norton Bridge to all her friends, and they'll think she's nuts, but she is a Grown-Up.

Picked up Aunt-Fayoumis from where they were visiting Uncle-Fayoumis's brother. Went to the farmers' market and then walked on the beach. Unsurprisingly, I got soaked from the waist down. I was not expecting quite that much of a wave. But, yay ocean! Yay beach!

... If there is water? I will get wet.

A First, revisited.

There were three of us: the young man who would become my best friend, the young woman who would become my roommate, and me. It was January 2001, and we met every day before class in the college cafeteria.

My future roommate came in screechingly upset: she'd had a Bad Feeling, and the last time she'd had a Bad Feeling like that, someone had died, and she couldn't rest until she admonished all her nearest and dearest to be Safe. She screeched out again, in search of a pay phone.

Darkside and I looked at each other. We knew something had to be done, and it wasn't for her to do, because she was too close and too upset. So it was us. We figured out what we had to do, joined hands, and --

-- it felt like nothing I'd ever felt before. It was two rivers combining, two halves made whole, a seamless, living connection greater than the sum of its parts. Every time I had Worked with someone else before, there had been a feeling of braiding, of wrapping together toward a common goal, but never this complete merging. I was immersed in him as he was immersed in me.

It's a windmill, and I'm tilting straight at it. It's insanity, obsession, and a scary disconnect from reality. It's love, it's religion, and it's first and foremost the friendship I've made a vocation of. I try to explain it, but it's deuced hard to explain love so others can see through my own eyes.

I'm Ravenclaw enough to not know when to leave well enough alone. I want the rest of the world to know this utter beauty and near-perfect contentment, and this which I have is the only example I know inside and out enough to hold it up to the light. I write: I craft small worlds. This world of joy and tears I live with is difficult to throw into fictional context. So I hold it as it is, unembellished, and hope it shows plain through my words.