This may be the most open and honest I have been yet in this blog… except no one will perhaps know, because all my words seem to have gone again. That happens occasionally – it never used to, but then I used to be surrounded by words, constantly writing, researching. Words were everywhere, and I took them completely for granted.

Nowadays most of what I do is either visual or tactile – heck, even when I am working with words it’s still visual – and so sometimes language just goes wandering off, looking for someone who will pay it more attention. Maybe the family up the road is feeding it, I don’t know. The darndest part is, I do some of my best thinking during those times. I discover things and ponder them, and examine other things, and oh, you know: Thinky-stuff. Except without words.

Maybe there are lots of people who are like this all the time, and the only reason I notice at all is that it’s so different for me. The first time it happened I even stopped reading for a month, which had never – literally never happened before. I didn’t forget how, I didn’t even not want to, exactly. I just sort of… forgot to.

I realized that it was happening again on Wednesday. Emily and Dru came for a visit, and the three of us went into Windsor to meet up with Jodi and Peter for supper. (Mmm. Lentils. And that other stuff.) They’d kind of had to drag me out of the house in the first place – and I’m glad they did – but I was feeling a bit off-kilter all evening. I’m not sure how else to put it. These people are brilliant, sincerely: Creative, smart, witty – and I’ve known them for years, and I love them all, and it is wonderful on those sadly now rare occasions when we’re all together. Wednesday was wonderful too, but at the same time I just felt kind of on the wrong plane all evening. I was thinking of Jodi on her porch (it really is a great sitting-porch) and how if I was in the city I would be sitting on my own porch – or hers – and people-watching, and neighbor’s kid visiting, and all that stuff. But I’m out here, and what I see from my (entirely different) porch is bunnies and chickens and the occasional deer. I love it, I wouldn’t change it for the world – but I think it’s changed or is changing me. For the better, I hope. I’ve mentioned that I didn’t used to be very nice.

I have this hope that when Jodi is finally back for good I will see her more. I want to go into the city and sit on her porch and listen to her talk about the neighbors and knit with her. I’m not sure how that’s going to work, what with the farm and the chickens and the Other People’s Stuff, and all those reasons I always hesitate to leave here, but I do go into the city sometimes, and sometimes for not much reason at all, so I would like it if a couple of times a month my reason could be Jodi. And we could talk about fibre in its various forms all day if we wanted to, and no one would complain!

There. Best I could do for now, and I think I just talked my way around whatever point I might have had.   There’s other stuff I’ve been thinking about, but it’s even more on the vague and linguistically-unformed side. I’ll try again later.

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