It was wonderful to see Her again, although I had never seen this person before in my life.

That was alright. /I/ on the other hand, was not. Forgive my abuse of the passive voice in this entry, it has of late become hard upon my inner ears.

She's been a flying lady with a nest of six girls to raise. Miss Ellen's home for wayward girls, as it were.

I've been dividing myself into pieces: one locked in a Tower and the other playing at prince. I have to climb my own hair to get at my secrets til I don't know which end is up, anymore.

That's what I get for living at the edge of the jumping-off place, I suppose. And, for the record, none of this is Fox's fault. I've been too free with the locks and the curtains and the fines.

We had wonderful thai iced tea and talked about politics and our families, and she talked about herself now and I talked about her too.

We didn't talk much about me. I was hardly there. I had that horrible numb feeling, like five minutes after she arrived someone had come and socked me with an iron across the face.

The poor girl had a fever; I had excess estrogen spilling out of my system in the form of most unseemly tears.

I have to remember to get the number of our friend and my adoptive mother Amy from her, so I can call the lass.

Scenes and stories are pulsing through my head, about which I have very little comment. They will appear when they do.

Yes, she and I are still friends, and the Fox is still my lover. L'auffres chose est realisée, and terrible isn't exactly the word I'd use.

Our old love-affair,
has ended to-day,
You were the State of the Union
I was Nothing To Say.

That is to say, it's not what it once was, it's something else. And I have lots more Tower to type.

And I want to find that trickster quiz. When I took it, it said I was Coyote.

Heen.

<<agé chose>>

0 comments.notation.profile.DW.Quois.Lochinvar.smut.Tambourin.DiaryLand.DeadNazi