Big Conversation (tm)

It was gentle. We curled up on the couch with scrambled egg lunch and talked about people we knew, and things that were happening in our lives that day. Then we set a two-hour time limit for classtalking, took a deep breath, a long thought, and started. Slowly. I said I wanted to get to a place where we could talk about class itself, instead of talking about how hard it was to talk about. We talked about communication for awhile, about how we ask questions and why. We talked about age and class and how they intersect. Then we practiced actually having a conversation about class.

I thought it was too easy. I was ready to be pushed. Davey offered to push, but I know him well enough to know when he's giving a real choice and when he isn't. He was. I declined. He said:

"Maybe it's not easier because we set goals that were too easy. Maybe it's easier because we're actually getting better at this."

There were no tears. My pulse stayed steady and deep. When it was over, I wanted to hug him for a long, long time. But I didn't, cuz, ya know, that's mushy.

He wanted the address of this blog, and I gave it to him. Even though I swore I wouldn't. But actually, I swore not to ask him to read it. But he asked me. So I gave it to him.

Here it is, Davey. My messy, incoherent blogspielshit.

This is that break I promised myself last week. I'll still post to keep myself in the habit, but they'll be light and quick. Real substance-driven entries will resume next week.