July 25th, 2003

documentation, writing, quill

Aha! Have tagged little bit of poem.

Something was rattling around in my head upon reading today's word: "..., ..., ... surcease from sorrow;
..., ...., ... ... ... tomorrow;"

I knew I'd heard it somewhere before, and it had a McCaffery-ish feel about it. Was thinking about the poor Queenrider who lost her dragon, Brekke, but it didn't feel quite like her. Finally, I remembered Menolly, and then the bit fit: mourning the old Harper the first time I met her.

Odd, how things'll stick. That was way back in the 7th grade in the first semester, as Murph was still around with his collection of books. (Mr. Addington came with his own books, which finally gave me a name to put to the disconnectedness I felt in my head.)
pretty, Francine

thassi, folks.

crashing loony's betime shouldabeen a good 4 hrsago.

say gnight, 'ni.
ni'ni', 'ni.
running, bomb tech

That's something.

I wonder if any enterprising soul is going to make an IM service that uses LJ IDs as the form of contact? And, if so, how many people would jump on board?

It would be ideally integrated with some LJ client or other, but would not hit LJ for the actual communications stuff, only use it for userid/password authentication, and then, erm, something. Where someone else's computers do the whole "Hi, how are ya? Let's get data from one place to the other!" aspects of the chat.

But it would generate easy-to-post chat logs, with a default setting of Private for the chat logs, no matter what the default setting of the journal was.
running, bomb tech

Communication Breakdown

Fun stuff in Connectivity today. They put the geeks and the BIS crowd together, you see, and previously the teacher for the prerequisite to connectivity that was teaching the BIS students flaked out in the middle of the term, so the BIS students are so, so lost.

So we have half the class nodding and asking questions about what Kurt's doing with the Linux command line there on umbras (his faithful laptop), and then there are the BIS students too shell-shocked to ask questions.

So that little problem got communicated, and Sandstrom backed down when it became apparent that the BIS kids didn't even know DOS (I'd asked, "Would you say that the console here compares fairly well to DOS?" and Kurt said yes, and the BIS students looked even more clueless). The class then swapped over into "Hello, this is a command line and how you use it" mode. I suggested that he show us how to do it in graphical and in command line, which went over very very well.

I think everybody learned. I offered up my services as geek-to-English translator to the leader of the BIS students, which was much appreciated.
running, bomb tech

Candle: more closeness

Lit that candle I'd brewed quite a while back. The green yarn binding I put on my wrist some months back is sitting in there.

The general idea I'm picking up from the candle is that it's for balancing and encouraging the closeness that both parties desire, in whatever form it may take.
running, bomb tech

Bootstrapping

Once upon a time, there was hardly a week that went by that I didn't cry about something.

Once upon a time, the universe was barraging me left and right with things that completely overwhelmed me. Things were floating up from the depths of my mind that I had no experience in dealing with, and there was no one who I thought could help me. I was in a strange place, with the only person I knew there getting creepier by the day, with the rest of my roommates convinced that I was utterly flipping nuts.

It was in this situation that I became friends with Darkside.

He was as lonely as I was. It takes a certain amount of need for human contact to sit on the phone and summarize old movies, to read aloud websites, to not stop until his mother told him to get off the phone, or until he needed to go to bed.

Some nights it would all be too much for me, and I'd cry over the phone to him, and he'd make soothing noises and let me know that it was all going to be all right, that not everybody in the world was a pudding-brained wart on the ass of humanity (and especially not all men). When I thought I could trust no one, he proved that I could trust him.

All of me grew to trust him, to such an extent that Mona, Mona the near-mute who had to write or fingerspell or exert a huge force of will to speak even softly, spoke to him aloud.

After a while, I'd let him ask questions about things, and I'd let him give me advice about things, rather than only dissolving in tears. I'd wait to dissolve until he was alone with me, as I learned that crying alone didn't make me grow. The tears would flow, but it wouldn't bring me comfort.

Somehow, it seemed that I was crying about deeper things, and not as often. (He never saw me when I cried alone.) With infinte tenderness where I least expected it, and much whacking me over the head with textbooks because he knew it would make me giggle, he gradually convinced me that I wasn't as horrible as I thought I was, and he didn't hate me just because I loved him.

That last was a major part of things. He kept whacking me over the head with textbooks until I came to believe what he said, that he wouldn't hate me because I had fallen in love with him, that I didn't deserve to be despised because I'd fallen in love with him, and that he wouldn't force me to fall out of love with him to remain friends with him, and he wouldn't take unfair advantage of it either. He was furious with Shawn's treatment of me, became annoyed at Adam's treatment of me, and remained protective of me in affairs of the heart (or other places more southerly).

I learned to read his twitches and silences. I learned that when he snapped and snarled, it just meant 'be still and let me concentrate', not 'leave me utterly alone', though for some people incapable of being still for him, it would have meant for them to go away and come back some time he wasn't busy. I learned to tell when he was happy. I learned the precise way to be quiet so that he would tell me what was bothering him.

I'm learning the words that will get the message that he's not alone, that people do care about him, through his stubborn independent skull. It's a long way from where we used to be. I'm glad I'm whole enough to see where his weaknesses are, and help him find the ways to fix them.
running, bomb tech

Phone

Shared some good DeVry gossip with Darkside, and had enjoyable chat for a half-hour.

I love him.
running, bomb tech

meep.

Will call sometime tomorrow and open with, after I have his complete and undivided attention for a bit, asking if he knows what it means when I say that I miss him.

...He's on vacation. He should have some spare time. I had to call Ro.