novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Stella the rib-sticker she stuck to my ribs I forgot to tell you about Stella. So, uh, that is how I am doing. I feel stupid telling you all of these things. But I also feel that it is necessary that I be honest. How is your adoption going? I babysat the most amazing two year old last summer, a girl named Stella. Fell in love with her capriciousness, just moved me beyond belief. I want to get to be a mother too, one day. I keep day-dreaming about living alone and working full time. Living by Lake Merritt and jogging around it every day. Living in the city and wandering the SF streets fearlessly (and carlessly). Then about having a daughter, or a son, and what stories I would read to him or her at night. Ancient Japanese samurai tales. Westerns. Greek mythology. Poetry, poetry. We'd go on road trips -- for some reason I imagine us tooling down a stretch of highway in a convertible. And it's ok to admit this, to want to take care of someone. To want to be taken care of. And it's ok to want to be taken care of. (Steinian repeat) Stella we were on the same wavelength, there, for a little while, when we made forts out of the expensive couch, when we went on our walk and I crouched down and put my head next to yours and we watched the grumpy old housecat watch us. 10:17 pm - 12.07.08 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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