Boxes: emptied, and still full; drawers not recently opened or explored; feeling a bit like a visitor in someone's home. And yet making myself at home. I need to focus on making it home. And what that mans to me.
I've made an electronic connection with someone once in a situation like mine. he's read back over old blog posts and made comments. I went back and re-read some old posts. Wow. I wrote that stuff? Could have fooled me.
And in other news, , , , , my last post ended with a "maybe." It was intended to be a "may be;" not expressing uncertainty of connection, but wonderment about what may yet be. It was indeed a very real connection.
And, I may have committed a terrible blogger-sin, or had a stroke of genius: I told him about my blog, and sent him the link. Hello, D. are you there? So now he has the opportunity to get to know me through what I've written. And, (or but) I can't write all about him on my blog! Yet, it's seemed the kind of intuitive connection that leads me to want him to know me better. And there is so much history in this blog. I really like him, but it's certainly more than a "like" kind of connection. Who knows. May be. May it be. What yet may be?