wispfox

There were many days in the White Mountains with metahacker.

There were stars, many many stars. And we never even went anywhere specific to go look at them.

There was walking in woods and mountains and rivers and mushrooms of various and unexpected colors and shapes. There were rocks for crossing wet places, for sitting on, for petting, for having pet rocks, and for being pets of rocks.

There was cuddling. A whole lot of cuddling. Also, cuddling.

There were conversations about bears and moose, but no actual sightings by the two of us of either one.

There was a gradual increase in ability to deal with walking in places with uphillness.

There was a cold with a fever that came and went.

There was conversation, chatting, silliness, and connecting.

There was a room that could have been better in various ways, but which was still a good room for being a room in which there was much time spent with metahacker.

There was a hot tub that I never got around to using. There were various very friendly owners and workers at the Bed & Breakfast we stayed at. There are wee pretty paintings, and postcards that failed to be sent while we were actually there.

There was grumpy, there was tired, but there was also a deep low level joy at being in mountains with trees and green and quiet.

There was remembering that mountains and hills are a rightness for me, in ways that flatness is not. And also remembering that places that tend to have them also tend to not have much to do in the evening.

There was much passing of various towns I've lived in or near, remembering when Concord, NH was a big city to me (Boston used to terrify me; Manhattan still does, although less so), seeing various towns that I think my high school used to have sports games at.

There were times when there was too much moving and I needed to just sit for a while and talk to the mountains and trees and grass. There were many more times when I just knew where I was, and was glad.

There was a fire, marshmallows, and small, hyper children. There was very little reading, and no internet access (or indeed, a computer, for me).

There was beauty. There was simplicity. There was quiet. There was time away with metahacker. And it was indeed good. I really needed that, for the time away, for the nature, for the time with metahacker.

There are pictures, which I may get around to posting some of.

I can has piano music played by a sweetie!

Now if only I had fewer meetings so I could _listen_ to it...

I know, it was yesterday in your time zone, but I wish you a delightful birthday anyway.

( cut for excessive schmoop )

starandrea's post makes me intensely happy.

So does the fact that I'll be seeing her this weekend. Her _AND_ ladytabitha.

So does the fact that I let myself be sappy, and share things that seem trivial and yet important to me, far more often than I used to. Perhaps because I never got what felt like the right responses when I did. So getting the 'right' responses makes me more likely to do it.

Took me until Psinging until I found people who had what I considered the 'right' response to 'Magic', for example. I learned that song when I was somewhere around 12, I think. And I'd tried to share it before, with no comprehension on other people's parts. That was always sad. And painful.

It makes me happy to know that knowing me can improve people's communication skills.

I like that I can get over fear and shyness to tell people things that they need to know of the things in my head, when I know them. Like that I'm in love with them. Even if it does make me want to hide, desperately (and, apparently, consistently).

It continues to make me happy when people request things of me that I want to do, but that I might not have thought to request. And it continues to make me happy when it's immediately obvious to me that people actively enjoy the things I might do, especially when they are touch-related.

I like that I'm ok with asking for seemingly trivial things which are important to me. Or simply doing things (usually touch-related), without worrying that I should ask first, or that it won't be appreciated or wanted. (or, if _not_ wanted right then, that they won't feel free to say so, or that they'll be snappy about it)

I like that my need for people to tell me things that relate to me when they are aware of them helps me feel a part of their lives. And cared for. And trusted. And loved.

I like that being pushy about things that are important to me are taken as signs of what is important to me, rather than a problem.

It amuses me that I still get randomly shy because of direct gazes, if there are other people around. (sometimes, sticking out my tongue is lack of a response, sometimes it's a response to cheeky people, and sometimes it is because I'm feeling self-conscious) I still like them, if I push through my embarrassment.

I like that I can trigger reminders of things like this. Because this, also, is one of those things which just feel 'right' to me.

Somehow, 'less than 6 months' is a much easier goal to be patient for than 6 months or more was.

And, somehow, tonight is ok. Then again, I think I recall that the night of the day after australian_joe leaves is the hardest. That, or much as I less and less _want_ to say goodbye, I'm getting better at coping with it.

I love, I'm loved, and apparently I feel like drowning you all in schmoop. And it makes me very happy that many of the things I've said apply to multiple people in my life.

Now, for a shower, kitty cuddling, and sleep.

I like that, even with the mopey bits relating to the fact that my apartment is _empty_ right now, I am completely confident in that he'll be _back_. (and, yes, I do have intent to visit there at some point - dude, I _already_ wanted to visit Australia! I just have more reason now. ;)

I like that I had time during which I had both lots and lots of words and lots and lots of non-verbal. (And knowing that my need to be highly verbal is _appreciated_ is wonderful)

I like that I didn't let myself not say (and I _said_ them, mostly, not wrote them!) things that needed to be said because it annoyed me that it was true, or because I was afraid. And the telling was always received well. (I'm sure the above comment about highly verbal appreciation was a factor here, too)

I like that I felt like I was listened to on as many levels as I tend to listen.

I like that I was willing to look into eyes for long periods of time without breaking eye contact. And I learned that apparently part of why my gaze can be disconcerting is that I don't move my eyes at _all_ unless I'm thinking about it (or something not what I'm looking at catches my eye).

I like that, even though I most certainly had moments of feeling like I was being too strange (and therefore enough to make people leave), there was an explicit statement that at no point was that a possible problem. And I _most_ certainly got stranger than most people see me (I don't usually let people see me when I'm being really unable to sleep/fae/not fully here). Weirding people out is _always_ a concern of mine.

Yes, I miss. Of course I do - two weeks is a lot of time, especially when one is attempting to do lots of stuff during it. But I _don't_ have the fear that normally comes with distance for me. At least for now, at least while the sense I got is strong and important/needed shared verbalizations are in my head, I'm not afraid. And it is good.

I love. I miss. And I'm not afraid.