Wow. After a long, stuttering lapse of communication with my man-in-minneapolis, he’s back, with an out-of-the-blue reply to a message I had almost forgotten about. We’ve exchanged two rambling emails in as many days, and even though there’ve been none of the old arguments about semantics and the future of human artistic impulse (and we’re talking two years old, now, incredible how time passes only when you’re not looking, his forehead’s gotten much taller) it still feels good to blather on at someone who intuitively appreciates most of how I tick, or at least, how I blather on. Not to mention his idiosyncratic writing style… *funblort*
Of course, this has also led me to the lead-stomach-sinking realization that all our old correspondence has vanished from my dusty, spam-choked webmail account. Which is a loss indeed. There’s nothing quite so nostalgically comforting on a cold, lonely night as rereading old emails and reminding yourself that someone, somewhere, once thought enough of you to write tolerable poetry. Don’t ever store things with emotional impact on a foreign server, boys and girls; keep them instead on a diskette, which you can lose and rediscover as many times as you want.
There’s a really gigantic bug fluttering around. I’m going to bed.