At home I begin to lead a double life: one online, one off. I spend my days in communication with those around me, but I talk of past events for the most part, catching up to the present slowly. I have no future to speak of, except the next few weeks. I know I harp on it. It's on my mind.
I have emailed Josiah regarding the comment bars, but have recieved no answer. My dad has volunteered to assist with the architecture of this site, however. Perhaps he will know what to do.
I am enjoying my brothers' company very much. I always do. After months of nothing but girls' perspectives on the majority of life, the cutups of Noah, Ike and Zach are hilarious to behold. They come out with things no girl would contemplate, and they are funny purposefully. I had forgotten that the reason I tickle is because everyone in my family does. It's a sign of affection, just as punning is a sign of intelligence. It delights me to be hugged and growled at, and have wild hyenna whoops echoing around the kitchen as my brothers clean up supper. I can expect to be pummelled if I tease; and have insults thrown as merrily as threats of disembowelment, mutilation, and death. Wittily, of course. My family does not view my boxes of books as anything but a good investment, and our love affair with words and language continues. Who am I to be born of such stock? To care fervently about music and be inextricably intertwined with its making. To live by the shaping of thoughts into words, words, words scattered through the library of our house, with books in almost every room by the dozen, papers and magazines and stories on the floor in the air in our minds and on our tongues. I know other families are like this; they must be. But I love our fascination with language and the culture of words. I love finding dictionaries and thesauruses and encyclopedias all around, in several languages.
And pictures. My mother is refining her skill, and I'm in awe. Simple projects for a class, perhaps, but the inventiveness and sheer technique evident is amazing. I don't think she needs to go to school, but for the sake of her continuing production of work, I want her there. She never did so many when she was stuck at home with us, but she's capable of so very very much.
This is silly, perhaps. The first evening home I stood, disheveled from the wind and travelling, in my brothers' doorway, and much to my surprise Noah looked at me and said, "You're cute." For once, it seemed entirely authentic rather than fraternally inspired, which is why I make a note of it. I don't know why he said it, but that's not the point. I have come to the conclusion that looks are for others' benefit so it doesn't matter what I think.
I need to go to bed, I suppose. It being almost tomorrow.
Drat it, if I'm restless for lack of communication with friends now---