It's been a good evening.
I rode home this evening and enjoyed the warm air and the sun on the water, feeling the muscles in my thigh bunch and stretch as I rode. I came home, manage to keep all of th cats from escaping, warmed up the tofu stirfry from the other night (it was almost as good as it was the first time!) and i'm sitting down at the computer with a mug of tea and NPR playing.
I feel almost...civilized. Like something wound tight in me is finally unwinding. Part of this is going back to lifting weights, i know, and the rest is probably me finally accepting that summer is, indeed, over, and that the delights of winter are almost upon us.
And on Thursday, i fly to San Jose to pick up my car. Three days in the car with my mom...I'd better bring music.
[speaking of music, Tess, your mix is done and will be posted tomorrow or Thursday.]
The story that I posted the link to a couple of days ago has garnered a most, ah, interesting response. If you count screeches of delight as interesting, that is. And it's inspired me to write more; I'll be writing a follow up to that sort this week, likely, and somewhere I have some stuff I've written that I should edit into a readable form and upload.I think I'm almost ready to look at the stuff I wrote for Eriond.
For those of you who don't know, I had a friend who went by the handle Eriond for a number of years. He and I had a flirty friendship, and we went through a phase where we were writing each other erotic stories every week or so. This was a comfort to me in a time of loneliness, a much-needed fantasy escape when i found myself underemployed and bored.
September 21st, 1998, he died of respiratory failure. He was 19.
It's been a year and I still haven't had the heart to look at the stories he and I wrote. I still miss him, and I occasionally think, "hey, I need to write him about this when I get home" only to realize that he can't read his email any more.
I always intended to go back through those writings and post them somewhere, but until recently the thought has been too painful to contemplate actually doing. Those writings, and the collar he sent me a year before he died, are the only things I have left of him.
I dread opening up the files and hearing his voice come from them, reminding me that he'll never log in to talk to me again.
But, still, I want to read them, to remember him and his words. It's a bittersweet urge, the grief finally melting and blending into another, sweeter emotion.
We'll see. Maybe next weekend.
New pictures, taken by Chris:Juniper, the laziest cat in the world (he tipped over the bowl so he could stick his head in and eat without having to stand up)
Chris hanging out in his chair at work
Best reason to check out other people's kinks:
Because sometimes they're quite amusing. [link is NOT work-safe and has pictures of a naked guy locked in a...chastity belt. Something about chastity belts just makes me giggle.]
how goes the war?
More fortifications are being built. We are now well-entrenched.
