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Sat, Dec. 23rd, 2006, 05:33 pm
An open letter:


We've never talked, or we don't talk much, and I'm unsure as to how to start. Maybe it's fear, or just an excess of caution, but instead of directly approaching you, I wrote this up, and hoped it would get to you, or by pure social chance, happen to have some effect on you.

I've been watching you for a couple of years now, even though you haven't noticed me. You are an interesting person, and have always left me impressed with your abilities and thoughts. Even though I don't approach you, online or off, I still want to let you know that, leaving me conflicted. So, I wrote this up, and hoped it would get to you, or by some trick of fate, have some effect on you.

Maybe I'm afraid of displeasing you, or that our exchanges will somehow be unpleasent, or that I somehow will give you some mental disease, like how you're not supposed to touch baby birds, and you'll be touched by darkness. Maybe by thinking this way, by playing it safe, I'm denying other possiblities, for fear of the worst. Instead, I wrote this, even though you haven't noticed me, I wrote this up, and hoped you might find it, or that, somehow, its message would carry through to you.

Thank you.

Tue, Dec. 26th, 2006 12:13 pm (UTC)

In the spring and summer, we have mosquitoes unlike any you've ever seen. Oh, we have mosquitoes, starting with the ones that hibernated: big, slow, and stupid. Later ones depend on the species, but we have these gigantic brown ones that are sometimes mistaken for strangely spindly aenemic house-cats. There's a joke about the mosquitoe being the state bird. (It's not. It's the ptarmigan.)

At the moment, though, we're free from them. For now.