Ramblings of a whiner.

I've been reading other people's blogs since I've had the luxury of internet access again. And it's great. And I'm jealous. I envy their whit. Their word choice. The clarity of their voices.

But I'm still going to write. Because it makes me feel more connected with people. [what?] It's strange how typing on a keyboard makes me feel more connected with the world. I find myself looking at photo albums over and over again on fb. There is comfort staring at this flat screen. Maybe it's due to the fact I was mostly disconnected from technology this summer between a faulty computer and being in the back woods of Maine. Call it what you will, but sitting in the midst of family, all I want to do is blog. What a loser.

And I'm still going to write because I need to process. Something which I feel like I haven't really been able to do since arriving in the mitten state. You'd think that eighteen hours in a car with one Caleb Barrows would have been sufficient. It was truly about eighteen hours of talking about the summer and life. Learning to drive a stick shift and stopping at Niagra falls were just icing on the cake. Many thanks to you sir, for your questions and listening ear. I don't think a trip on 90 could get any better. Worth much more than $17.50.

I've realized something though. People don't really care.

Here's the disclaimer, this will probably come off sounding whiny. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to be the center of attention. But there is this shift that takes place as you get older. People ask out of social responsibility. You ask, "What's new?" or "How was _____?" to be polite. The answer doesn't really matter.
But at the risk of being needy...I want to express the lessons learned. I want to tell stories about my "co" and the kids. About being with Rachel in San Diego. What it felt like walking around Portland. It's hard to express what really happened to people who weren't there. You can carry the lessons with you, take certain things-memories, pictures, quotes, music, inside jokes, but the experience stays there. The experience stays with the people. We've shared it-and it's ours. But it belongs only to us. Which is sad. And sacred at the same time.