Again With the Making Me Cry

The "Grey Thatch"

I awoke to an e-mail from a dear friend (who is probably the only subscriber to this pitifully neglected blog) whose title is also the title of this posting. This was followed by a giddy Skype session, and now my ego is puffed, as it sometimes is, from that rare occasion that these shameless ramblings may touch someone. Inspired enough to write another posting just one day later! I know at least one person is reading now, and many others who google "under the sea floats"....wtf??? And I'm re-using photos from previous postings...

The ecstasy of having no estrogen left in my body! My soul is singing at never having to use birth control again (why are we fertile for 30 freakin' years!). I always knew I would love the crone. I was yearning for the crone when I was a 21 year old punk. I was a "get offa my lawn" kind of gal when I was ripe with ova. I don't hate kids. I just never wanted any. And I really like it when I don't have to be around them very much. Those shortys behind me in the photo are emperor penguins, by the way.

Summer in Portland is only slightly less hellish than summer in Austin. At least in Austin I expect the weather to suck 10 months out of the year. But for 4 months without break here is is white hot sun and boiling temps. I can say it cools off at night here, which is a relief. But I am not doing another summer here-I've already decided that.

required Antarctic paragraph:

The thing about Home is it not always bliss. But people who've been through hell together report the same sorts of feelings I've felt on the Ice. A lot of id comes out on down there...I always tell people: whatever it is in you that you are hiding from, or think you can control and not act upon, or are not even aware of, that Thing will roar up and take over in that remote station bubble. I always am surprised which character defect will get activated, which ancient cathects will emerge, which uber inappropriate man I'll be attracted to. It's shocking, but I go with it.

For G, the only other person I know who grocs this dirty south thing the way I do: I love you!