Covetousness

I spent last night with my ex, loading up her shiny new silver nano with the music of her life. Music I shared with her, music that writes her stories since we've been apart. She sat in my cosy blue armchair next to my desk while I did the techie thing, and we ate ice cream and chatted. Warm and family now, knowing each other, both in the same place that we are where we need to be in exploring the various possibilities of our separate lives. It hasn't escaped us that her current squeeze is exactly half the age and a different gender from mine. It's almost absurdly pointed.

It was a good connecting evening, and I caressed her shiny silver toy with incredible covetousness. But what I *really* yearn for is this one -- black, 8GB, perfect, tactile. Calling out for a fondling fingertip. I am shameless.

Onto a busy rainy October day -- client work, a networking lunch, continuing to write the paper I finally made the good explosive assault on yesterday, a good queer evening with Spidertattoo, to see Alison Bechdel and Ivan Coyote, storytellers extraordinaire.