Sparkling Coconut Water

An odd thought, just now.

I know I have understood this in a fundamental way

all my life--because I have, practised it?

But I didn't really have the words until just now.

I don't TRUST people because I think they are intrinsically TRUST-ABLE...

I do it because I have found, more often than not?

When you place trust in someone, when they KNOW you have?

They hold true. True as they are able.

I know, I know.

That is not a solid saleable argument.

But, it is about a sense of direction that is often unknown.

Once known, it can be followed.

It is so easy to fall into the ready vacuum of my age.

THIS age, and MY age...41.

I don't want to fall.

To idea(l)s.

The balance is strange.

It must be maintained.

Trust is something you hand someone, squirming in a box.

Then it is their turn. More often than not, I have observed...

They do not drop the box.

I was nine years old, fresh from Austin. I missed my friends.

I was bored, and lonely.

We were living in a tiny house on a tiny the Ryukuan chain.

I took a deep breath and walked out my front door.

I met little boys before I met little girls.

They did not like me.

But I followed them. I followed them around where ever they went.

Mud and water thrown at me with taunts I could not understand...

But I didn't stop following them. I knew, they were all I had.

I know I always say this as an aside, "I learned Japanese, while catching tadpoles".

But it's true. And it was a WA-WA moment. I was...kinda good at.....catching them.

And I earned the respect of my tormentors and potential TOMODACHI.

I earned my Friends.

Yeah. Still don't get along with girls... *laughs*

And maybe I have mixed this whole diatribe of TRUST, with something else entirely?

But people don't give you ANYTHING unless you give it first.

We are all afraid.

(no subject)

I'll PAY, you Ruskies, just let me back in.
I need a photo that was last ever recorded in electric INK--HERE.
Maybe you can recover it.

Trying to UPGRADE back to my old status....

I have to find a picture that was here...
But every time I try to upgrade, it greys out the paid status.
I can't pay.
I mean, I CAN just won't let me.

Did someone put me back on the real grid Here?
Or am I just very tired, and I have forgotten
how to use the very thing that taught me the how to navigate this place?

Hey 33mhz!

You are almost as old now, as I was the night you came to my Birthday a million years ago...
Hope you are well.

Much Affection,
-Ginger ^___^

Blue Box

It's late.
I can't sleep.
So I'll tell you about what scares me
when I'm ignoring my real fears...

Daniel Tiger bought me a gift. Something he thought....
was whimsical. Here, he said on IM, let me show you!
and video chat began... he raised the book.



I think that is exactly what not only my eyes and face,
but my mouth, said
when he showed me.

I really don't have a poker face, my Mother will tell you that.


I knew what it was.
I knew he had gotten it from someone who had made it from scratch.
Each page, the spine.....the entire piece.
Lovingly crafted.

River Song's BOOK.

I was supposed to, and SHOULD have been...THRILLED.


Dead eyes, clinched sphincter, heart pounding...



i think that is what I mustered for the video chat,
in the moment after I expelled the word: SHIT.

I don't think that was what he was going for.
I also Daniel Tiger.

I cannot ever write a single word in THAT.

but thank you

*head in hands*

I'm afraid of it, Daniel.

He smiled.

Hand made paper sewn together along a spine bound.....
to the blue box.

Someone made it out of love, someone bought it for good purpose.

Ginger, just write a few spoilers. Set dates and tell yourself the story.

Did you know this would frighten me so?

No, no I just bought you something I thought you would use,
something to make you smile.

It's the good kind of scary.

Yeah, I did know that.

You shake me when I need it most. By the shoulders. You look me in the eyes.

Just write. Just a few spoilers. You're tiny, but you're bigger on the inside.

Just a few spoilers...

Ah yes....This Place.

It's beautiful outside. The wind is blowing
and I almost think I can hear a drum circle.
Lord love this silly town...

Last night I was feeling helpless, and made a mad gesture to the universe.
Just something small I knew I could do,
but that might remain forever unknown and anonymous?

I wrote a letter to Fountainhead Apartments
describing the amazing job that my Apartment Manager Marsha Garza has done
since working here. The place, my Tree House, is once again up for sale
and she has been transferred to another sight.

I wrote it knowing the people at the other end of the line
probably no longer had anything what-so-ever
to do with her further career goals,
but I didn't have any other way to thank her.

The person who got the letter was touched enough by it
to find a way to forward it to her.

She called me this morning and thanked me.
That is not what I expected. And frankly
I am impressed.
Wildly so.

There is still so much good in the most common of moments.
In the actions of each of us.

The load bearing beams of my Universe are collapsing around me.
The individuals I have counted on my whole life
to provide structure and support to my very understanding of existence are...
leaving me.
Are leaning on me.
Somehow I am still standing.

There is so much to learn. I have so much to learn.
But I am coming to understand
that what will cause me to be able to make it through...
is to be the person these people taught me to be.

Joan, the world is less now without you.
It simply is.
But your strength and joy and humour...
your overwhelming generosity of spirit?
You shared that with me.
You shared it with me, I will strive to do the same.

You beautiful little round faced blonde,
in your 'Channel no 5'!
Den Mother to all,
Mother to my Eagle Scout.
Mind like a razor. You missed nothing.
You laughed easily.
You loved Star Trek even more, if that is possible, than I.
You could bake anything, sew anything, FIX anything...
Everyone who ever met you, loved you.
Instantly, loved you.
Your heart, your home, your mind...always open.

Thank you.
I am so grateful to have known you.

You taught me to 'Prosper'.


I very nearly do not know how to use this any more.

I have to POKE it with a pointed stick.....because I know
it has recorded sooooo much.

I know what it is, has been, became......
and weirdly enough has become again?

It is, a decade of leaves turning...
it is what I loved about it FIRST, again.

No one is looking.
I mean...when I started writing, no one was looking.
I didn't know how to lock things, I just wrote.
It was my "Talking Journal" shy, sly, this PLACE.

You talked back,
for the first time.
I thought on a page.....
and sometimes
people talked back!

Mark, you were the first,
the first to respond on LJ.

come on, G, remember how to do that?
the html that was necessary?

I don't, I can't. The html I learned on a toshiba laptop,
and then on the MAC that Zutroy gave me???

I used to keep the instructions written and taped above my machine.
So I could do the stuff to make my words and an occasional picture possible.

I've lost my LJ skills.

Waxing Gibbous

The Moon is big tonight, two days to full.
I'm off, my moon-time started on the 10th.
But I'm getting closer to being right.

Babbling little girl, stretching for meaning.
Looking to the sky.

Witches, and Bibles, and Blank pages...

Always a chore to turn the page.

The farther I get away from childhood,
the more difficult it becomes to turn the page.

The Monster at the end of the book
is so much more frightening
than he was before.

Than she was before...

I've been STILL for far too long.
I wiggled this weekend.
I woke up, just enough
to look around and see how lost I am.

Caught my breath?

There are so many, so many gingers
I get lost. I lose focus. I curl up in the cool cool darkness.
I close my eyes and I cannot move.

The Moon is high, I was just looking up at her.
She is not waning, I am out of sync, I can catch up with her...

There is MORE.
More to come.

The world is small and precious.
The world is enormous and mysterious.

I am not broken.
I work.