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Just like the good old days

Good ol' Fuzzy is still legendary. I've both missed him and not missed him. His life is very exciting, mostly because things keep happening, he keeps doing things... His social interactions with other human beings is the stuff of cinema, the stuff of tabloids. I'm not sure whether I should poke the guy with a stick or not. We still managed to be close, and from all appearances, we'll be close again just through snapping back into habit. He's moved, and living in the same state as his ex and his daughter now. She's a smart little thing. The photo he shared with me of her actually reminds me of myself at the same age, much as I can see myself in the Little Fayoumis, only different. I've only seen her the once. And but for some timing, I could have borne her. It's a sobering thing to think about.

Fuzzy poked a little close to the issue that sets my brain on fire (sorry about snapping at you, raranax -- same deal, I'm just very extraordinarily touchy on the subject) and I came yea close to telling him, except since Fuzzy lives in the same town as the guy, and even lives within reasonable walk-over-and-deck-the-guy distance ... not going there. Not right now. But even talking around the thing so briefly leaves me nervous and shocky. My arms are warm, but my fingers are like ice. Toes too. And I was curled up in bed talking, with the a/c turned off.

And I won't get a chance to talk to Darkside until next weekend, after he's back from GenCon.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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