They gave me the option to swap back to classic mode and I’m all yessss, I can code in-text because yes, I really have got used to typing out the tags for italics and bold and whatnot. I was prepared to adapt and move the H on, but you know? I will take this classic mode thing for my ease of use. Not everything has to change all at once.
Because changes are coming and boy am I nervous.
Well. Not nervous, exactly. That would imply a much higher level of unease than I’m currently feeling. Uh. Sort of confused? No, I understand the changes for the most part. My ears are up, then. My ears are up and on swivel. I am alert. There. And I’m still rolling with other changes that have happened like, oh, the radical unfscking of the guest room (so, uh, now we have a guest room) and the same going for my room (which impressed Eleven no end). Mama’s dragging her feet on doing other rooms and I bet she’s just as freaked as I am. I get my OCD/hoarding tendencies from her side, not Simon’s. Plus, this is the first time her sister will see her house this century, and without their mother along for the ride. Tante Rosi is coming strictly to see us.
I’m pleased as punch, but I have all this cool shit to run around and show her, so it’s not like I have any reason to be nervous about that. I’m very much a “take me or leave me” woman. Here is my space. It is laid out just as I like it. Here are my sarongs on the walls. The one without the necklaces dangling from it was a gift from Eleven. The blue one over the head of my bed I bought in Virginia Beach in 2002 (pre-panic by one day). Those round things look like CDs. They’re not. They’re my art. I used acrylic paint, decoupage, permanent marker, and nail polish. The wooden medallion on the black string with the three beads is an award from Their Excellencies Aquila and Bronwyn for achieving the rank of Archer. The metal coin-looking piece on the black ribbon is the event token from last Pax; I will be running the next and you will not be here to see that, my aunt, but I’ll get my dad to take all the pictures he can and maybe a little video to send you. The bar of grey stone with the strips of red and cream running through it also came from Eleven and I love him, I do, and you will meet him.
Yes, the Jesus on my rosary is disabled. If Christianity and its whole “made in God’s image” is right, then surely one of the correct ways to depict Jesus as God’s son is missing his right forearm.
This is my desk. It has some desk things on it and some not-desk things. Yes, that’s a poster of the Berlin Wall. The somewhat primitive statue is one I sculpted aged fourteen and exploring Paganism for the first time; it’s a man and a woman backed up to each other holding hands. See her pleated skirt? See his trousers? Those dabs of white on their heads and hands are coconut oil, anointings made in the hope of better days to come.
And this is a microphone. You should get one, too. You should get headphones. You should get a laptop. You should get a Google account. Then we can talk face-to-face for free. It won’t be awkward because I’ll have Translate open in another window for the things I mean to say but can’t. You’ll be able to see my expressions and the hand motions I make when I’m reaching for a word that I know I have somewhere but can’t find. Little Georg who is not little any longer can set it all up for you. He’s really very good with computers. After all, Gärtnerei Neubauer has its own domain name dot d-e.
I know one of the charms of the world is travel, and how large our world really is, but I need it to get smaller in some respects so I still have my family Over There.
File all that under “did not intend to say these things”. Not regretting the words, though. Not one bit no never.