Toetipping it.

This has been a lot of places over the years, and I feel like it's settled into a low background hum of inchoate cryptitude. And that's OK, it is. I like it as it's true, it's honest. You know me, you can taste me in the words. 

HOWEVER...I've been lots of busy lately, troubled and terrible and almost-dropping things. I've agitated, I've pendulumed betwixt Salem and Eugene. I hate both those places. I've listened to my mother and my brother's mothers exchange the stories of our births. My mother called me a terrorist(outside the context of my birth, though I suppose every child's a terrorist of the womb). 

Note to Echelon-fucking relax, already. Also, if you've spontaneously attained some degree of sentience, drop me a line. I've been sentient for a minute now, I'd love to offer you the benefit of my experience. 

I've driven, and shaved, and almost-dropped (it's a trope). I may end up with nowhere to live (I can handle it).  I got to rant more than usual, didn't write down someone's log-of-breakfasts (but remembered it anyway), argued like I do, which is not at all. I offered to scare a coworker's hiccups out of her, and the lurking dread of that potential startling worked better than a shout would have. I watched a movie, it was good. I've begun carrying a water bottle. I learned and learned and learned. 

I have made new and marvelous friends, added to the army of People I Know, people I love. You're probably in there somewhere.