Move along, move along
Meh. Made my way back here again.
I've been meandering about the great wide internet world, checking out other spots on its worn and glimery-strange surface, but nothing has struck me quite like this place to put down my daily (semi-daily, weekly, monthly) spouts of consciousness. Nothing as simple, and I've found I greatly enjoy simple far over the over-complexities of some blogging/writing sites. I even found my way back to some of my old haunts, but the feeling just was not quite the same.
Many things have changed. How long has it been? Quite a time I feel assured.
And I've chosen this one over my other blog, ladyteigra, simply because it has been here a little longer, and therefore feels a little bit brighter. A little more worn in, you could say. Change is good, as I've hazard to mention a few (many) times before, but sometimes change back into the old is a good thing.
What's been happening? As is quite likely a well-known fact, life changes dramatically if you're not looking too closely. I dare say that my perception has been lack recently, and now I'm staring around and where I am, who I'm with and what's going on with slack jawed amazement.
At least I still have my cat, nice little kitty he is, currently a-snooze outside in the heat instead of underneath the air conditioning where he had been earlier. Recently he seems to teleport from one sleeping location to another, and I know it has everything to do with the weather. As soon as he loses the rest of his winter coat I'm sure he'll be springing off the trees again.
I still live in the condo I was placed in almost a year ago. I actually have a bed now, and proper furniture. I have wall decorations that please me to look at; Marilyn Monroe, Japanese landscapes, street maps of America and my beloved Kansas City (Beloved from afar that is). Then there's the whiteboard of my calls for California, because I still work my little at-home sales job. Stacks of text books, sketch books, regular books and my manuscript litter whatever available surface there is, but I manage to keep it clean enough.
Some changes to the general outlay of my room have changed in the last three days. A lot will change in the following three weeks.
While I have been paying only half-hearted attention, distracted I suppose in the throes of love, my soon-to-be living with me boyfriend has moved in a great deal of his things. Yesterday my Uncle, the boyfriend and I met with the boyfriend’s mother and discussed, well, my relationship with him.
The only excuse I can possibly come up with for moving this fast, for we've only been dating a mere six months, is that--there's no little voice in the back of my head. No squeaky bit of conscious saying "He's too angry, he has no ambition, he's lazy, he's short-sighted, he's too tall, he's not affectionate...etc," like the last too many boyfriends to count. The voice that kept me from saying "I love you" that kept me from saying "yes" when some went to their knees, that kept them at arm’s length when they decided they wished to live with me, to love me daily, and all that nonsense. It's not here. The voice, with him, is gone.
Well, maybe not entirely.
I suppose there is that one thing, that one very small thing, that crops up occasionally and sometimes makes me weep into my pillow (especially when he is not there). That one voice that I shove violently into the back of my mind for fear of falling into the though too often and finding myself scared and shaking and crying all the time.
"Cystic fybrosis," it says, "He's going to die."
...
Of course everyone is going to die, it's just more certain of a when and a how with him, and it does frighten me, frighten me to death sometimes. These last six months I cannot claim to be the happiest I've ever been. There's been adjustment and panic, there's been elation, jubilation, followed by depressions that sometimes last a few days. It's been life, it has been its usual ebb and flow, only he is there, and with him I feel just as I do with myself, only more so. It is not the fire and the passion I had with my last love, though it has its passionate moments, it is an accepting love. A love that I can see going on, not burning out, not falling drastically with a wonder of how it happened.
But I will spend little more time talking of how it came about or how it is. I will spend no more time (this time) telling how my life has been these last... however long it has been. For now I'll leave with this, and no other;
I'm back.
-Teigra-
I've been meandering about the great wide internet world, checking out other spots on its worn and glimery-strange surface, but nothing has struck me quite like this place to put down my daily (semi-daily, weekly, monthly) spouts of consciousness. Nothing as simple, and I've found I greatly enjoy simple far over the over-complexities of some blogging/writing sites. I even found my way back to some of my old haunts, but the feeling just was not quite the same.
Many things have changed. How long has it been? Quite a time I feel assured.
And I've chosen this one over my other blog, ladyteigra, simply because it has been here a little longer, and therefore feels a little bit brighter. A little more worn in, you could say. Change is good, as I've hazard to mention a few (many) times before, but sometimes change back into the old is a good thing.
What's been happening? As is quite likely a well-known fact, life changes dramatically if you're not looking too closely. I dare say that my perception has been lack recently, and now I'm staring around and where I am, who I'm with and what's going on with slack jawed amazement.
At least I still have my cat, nice little kitty he is, currently a-snooze outside in the heat instead of underneath the air conditioning where he had been earlier. Recently he seems to teleport from one sleeping location to another, and I know it has everything to do with the weather. As soon as he loses the rest of his winter coat I'm sure he'll be springing off the trees again.
I still live in the condo I was placed in almost a year ago. I actually have a bed now, and proper furniture. I have wall decorations that please me to look at; Marilyn Monroe, Japanese landscapes, street maps of America and my beloved Kansas City (Beloved from afar that is). Then there's the whiteboard of my calls for California, because I still work my little at-home sales job. Stacks of text books, sketch books, regular books and my manuscript litter whatever available surface there is, but I manage to keep it clean enough.
Some changes to the general outlay of my room have changed in the last three days. A lot will change in the following three weeks.
While I have been paying only half-hearted attention, distracted I suppose in the throes of love, my soon-to-be living with me boyfriend has moved in a great deal of his things. Yesterday my Uncle, the boyfriend and I met with the boyfriend’s mother and discussed, well, my relationship with him.
The only excuse I can possibly come up with for moving this fast, for we've only been dating a mere six months, is that--there's no little voice in the back of my head. No squeaky bit of conscious saying "He's too angry, he has no ambition, he's lazy, he's short-sighted, he's too tall, he's not affectionate...etc," like the last too many boyfriends to count. The voice that kept me from saying "I love you" that kept me from saying "yes" when some went to their knees, that kept them at arm’s length when they decided they wished to live with me, to love me daily, and all that nonsense. It's not here. The voice, with him, is gone.
Well, maybe not entirely.
I suppose there is that one thing, that one very small thing, that crops up occasionally and sometimes makes me weep into my pillow (especially when he is not there). That one voice that I shove violently into the back of my mind for fear of falling into the though too often and finding myself scared and shaking and crying all the time.
"Cystic fybrosis," it says, "He's going to die."
...
Of course everyone is going to die, it's just more certain of a when and a how with him, and it does frighten me, frighten me to death sometimes. These last six months I cannot claim to be the happiest I've ever been. There's been adjustment and panic, there's been elation, jubilation, followed by depressions that sometimes last a few days. It's been life, it has been its usual ebb and flow, only he is there, and with him I feel just as I do with myself, only more so. It is not the fire and the passion I had with my last love, though it has its passionate moments, it is an accepting love. A love that I can see going on, not burning out, not falling drastically with a wonder of how it happened.
But I will spend little more time talking of how it came about or how it is. I will spend no more time (this time) telling how my life has been these last... however long it has been. For now I'll leave with this, and no other;
I'm back.
-Teigra-
posted by Teigra at
4:27 PM
1 Comments:
So the thing that shocks me most about this is the fact that it's been at least eleven days since I checked your sites to see if you had started posting again.
Glad to see you're still around. Despite my own non-inconsiderable internet detective skills, I wasn't able to find any of your new sites during your absence, though I have learned that "Teigra Harper" has become a name to conjure with - at least, a name that's being used as part of a random string of words, phrases, and names on a lot of websites that I believe are just virus snakepits.
Anyway. Glad to hear you're still alive. Stop by and visit Another Monkey sometime.
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