Shyrin‘s photo was on the front page of the newspaper this morning. I showed my daughter, and explained that nobody knows where they are, and they were near where the big waves came. She cried and cried and then said she didn’t want to think about it any more, so we’re playing games that are full of laughs. She doesn’t want to talk with any of the other girls in her class, not for now, anyway. We’ll see how the next days go.

I crossed an ocean, and I didn’t tell you.

I like not telling all. I planned on keeping my blog placeless this week, this fortnight, only writing about websites and links and ideas and never mentioning the cat soundly sleeping, curled up against the rose-filled vase, his steady breathing a backdrop to my typing.

My computer is the same. My mind, the web, my books, the writing I’m planning on doing, all these are the same as they would be were I at home. There is no reason why my surroundings should leak into my blogging.

And yet when I try to keep them separate, I don’t blog at all. Maybe I’ll let them in, just a little. The cat, asleep. The roses.

But I won’t tell all.

3 thoughts on “telling

  1. Elin

    men NA ma du komme til Boston…. varsasnill…?

  2. moncay

    love to read this post: congratulations

  3. bicyclemark

    I sensed a twang in your typing.

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