There's something pushing me as far as I can go
It is my brother's birthday. The monarch butterfly which my mother discovered as an egg on a milkweed leaf last week and tenderly brought inside to be sheltered from hungry birds and fed on fresh-picked milkweed eclosed and flew free this afternoon, she hopes to join its kindred in migration; she showed me pictures of the transparent empty chrysalis, the wings like black and gold stained glass. My physical situation which had been cautiously mending has rather abruptly cratered. And Toni Morrison died. I go back and forth between feeling philosophical about the constant changing of the universe and thinking that a small amount of stability really wouldn't hurt anyone.

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Thank you. It just seems unnecessary.
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Thank you. My attitude toward much of my body right now is "Thanks! I hate it!"
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I still remember the time I kept a chrysalis in a jar as a child; when it turned into a butterfly and I set it free, it actually played with me outside my house--landing on my hand, flying nearby, perching on my hand again--for about half an hour until it finally flew away.
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Thank you. I had started to feel something like myself and then wham; now I feel like me under the wheels of a train.
it actually played with me outside my house--landing on my hand, flying nearby, perching on my hand again--for about half an hour until it finally flew away.
That's wonderful!
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I was in the system at that time and I can't remember if I heard about the butterflies then (it rings a faint bell, but I might be mixing it up with the story about the Canada geese), but I think that's excellent.
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I brought some Toni Morrison quotes in for my students. I was delighted to have one student pipe up that she liked this one:
If there is a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, you must be the one to write it. (She was in the minority--most students preferred You wanna fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down.)
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Thank you! (I think of you whenever I eat burdock.)
If there is a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, you must be the one to write it.
I have to admit I like that one a lot. It's become a truism.
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Haha, my thoughts, too - I read about the monarch and thought, hmm, I read that story - and you wrote it!
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I thought of it, too, but I wasn't sure it counted if I did the writing! (I don't think the monarch was Toni Morrison.)
sovay, I hope the physical situation improves. (And also I may be in your general neighborhood in September.)
Please look me up if so! And thank you.
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Ah yes, I remember that.
Sigh :o(
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Sympathy.
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I know Toni Morrison was 88, but it still seems too soon. Like with Ursula. Our writing mothers.
I hope you feel better soon.
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Happy birthday to her!
I know Toni Morrison was 88, but it still seems too soon. Like with Ursula. Our writing mothers.
It feels very much like losing Le Guin: yes, people of her age die, but not her, not now; it's like losing earth or stars.
I hope you feel better soon.
Thank you.
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Shit. < hugs > And as usual, lemme know if there's anything I can do...
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Thank you. I'm really worrying about that.
I don't have a very demanding schedule, so I would be happy to act as your assistant, errand-runner, whatever you need during the convention.
That's a really kind offer! I will hope it is not necessary, but if it is, I may well take you up on it. Thank you.
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Thank you. I . . . am not sure how dinner on Friday is going to work under the current circumstances. Would still like to hang out no matter what.
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ETA: what do you mean, there's nowhere in this branché and largely-literally-on-the-sea town where you can get kelp smoothies? gheesh.
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Man, now I really want kelp.
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(We are eating him.)
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What did he do to the living or the dead or both?