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Tuesday, Jun. 14, 2005 / 1:31 a.m. ~Rocky the Dog Found a Good Home With the Boys~ This is the thing. Since I first got online, first, ever, back in the early 1990s, since the first time I 'chatted' with a total stranger far away, that first time it was Montreal, I seem to remember, in IRC, vague, but I remember wanting to speak French with strangers, wanting to reach out, staying up all night with it, just text on a blank screen, no gewgaws, no banner ads, nothing back then, just talk, only talk, while my brother and his wife went off to bed, instructing me to lock the door behind me when I left, goodnight, that's it, since then, since that night, I've always thought that if I reached out, if I met someone, if I connected with some stranger, any stranger, and we became not so strange but comfortable and knew each other finally, all of it, the getting to know, it wouldn't matter. Distance. The distance wouldn't matter. Canada was the next one. He lived in Canada, and I saw pictures, and we talked for hours, and I am perpetually naive and eternally optimistic, I always think there is hope, I always believe there is good, I get past the slights and the hurt, the pain, the harsh, the unfairness, all of life is unfair, but I get past it all, think everyone is good inside, trust everyone until I realize I should not, but I saw it as possibility then. I always do. Even people who've moved away, for a while at least I saw us being together still, that is so old now, that is so far gone now, I can't believe I ever held on to that for so long, holding, hoping, and we know the things he said, we know he led me on, and it must have been a coup of sorts for him, must have been fun, a game, to lead me that way, to make me think there was a place for me there, and that was cruel, I think so, anyone would, at least it stopped at uprooting me, at least it ended and it's over, but someone new, anyone new... If I think of it, I'm thinking of it to its fruition, completion, past blossoming and to all its possibilities, anyone, no matter where, and I don't stop to think of reality, of logistics or boundaries, barriers, none of that exists but possibilities. But I realize I'm alone in this. This is my fantasy world, and while it's a fun place to live, it's necessary to recognize what it is, to see it for what it is, to back up and say, hey now, that's not what is happening here, he's there, I'm here, and there is anywhere but the moon, it's a big earth, but a small world after all, and here is this spot, now. I see it as not out of anyone's realm, if people want it, it's there, any of it. Magic happens. Back to reality, feel myself floating on a breeze, like a kite in the park, then caught on a high up branch in an old oak tree, and I need a tug or three to come back, but I can, I do. Pragmatic I, I can do that. No harm done. I saw lodges and hotels in Canada last night, on the PUBLIC TELEVISION, god save the PBC, please! And I must have dreamed I was in Banff, I must have dreamed of Lake Louise, and mountains, and craggy peaks, and snow caps, and elk and grizzlies, and Marilyn Monroe in that cabin that burned to the ground since. I want to stay in the fine hotel surrounded by chinooks, holding on so I don't blow away. I know I don't need anyone else, but it was fun to think of it, it was fun to let myself fall and see if I'd be caught or if I'd land with a thud. I fell on a soft cushion and all's well, but I woke and here I sit. A bit shaken, but all's well really. I am not like the rest, and the fundamental differences are what is important. No, I didn't let go at first, but I did finally, and I found something else so much better, but it's a fun fantasy, just like the lodges, and the log cabins and that glacial water and those blue skies. It's all hope and dreams, and we know they can come true, if you want them to. Cost of the War in Iraq
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