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Kiwi Crocus
29 August 2008 @ 02:05 am
The amount of information that COULD go into this little box is astounding. What WILL go into this box will somehow, as always, manage to shock me. Livejournal is a whimsical therapist like that.

Work was crap. Sherri was great. I got to rant about work. She took out sculpting stuff to use. I could tell she got more into using it than I, but she listened just as well even with the textile fascination at work. I then spilled the story of Mrs. Cavanagh, or at least some more of it. I hadn't seen her since January!

She understood. Beyond the way most people do, she did. I felt better. There are so few people I can speak with about Mrs. Cavanagh who can understand it to the level she and I shared during the session. She thinks I was good for Mrs. Cavanagh--that as wonderful a woman as she is, she is a lonely woman with much baggage she is still working through; that I helped her talk and love and be open. I can see that in our emails. I think, in some ways, I helped her as much as she helped me. That scared her. She's a 54-year-old woman who has no history of deep friendship and a few years ago, suddenly, she is drawn to this pained but strong and mature 15-year-old high schooler. Against possibly better judgment, she gets close to Help This Girl--but does she know she's helping herself? And she goes from a woman with no deep friends, to an almost immediate kindred spirithood with a high schooler who will be leaving to explore the world in a few years. Whom she will lose in a similar way to the way she lost her daughter (to college and life, nothing worse). That she has spilled things closer to her heart to this girl she does not often bring up with anyone, and found connections she has never thought possible, and all this stuff--with someone so young.

How scary! If I put myself in her shoes, I would have been frightened too. If I didn't have the history of deep friendships that I do. I have many friends in many places, I give my heart to many others, I share my story freely. I don't know if I would have pulled back. When I thought the Student Teacher line was crossed, yes, I imagine, as it would be a part of my job. Surprises me that she let herself get closer to me when we had that relationship than she will allow now that we don't. I say surprise, but that isn't the correct terminology.

Anyway. It was nice to talk about. Mrs. Cavanagh is a scarred woman. I love her dearly, so dearly, but I do not think she is Perfect. I think she makes mistakes. I think she has potential for more with sharing--she is so gentle, so loving, so free in many ways with her silliness and song.

Sherri mentioned my maturity once more. She gave me the sculpture she had made. "The journey of the heart." Sculpture looked to me like a dancing shoe. Heart drawn on, and a feather. Lined and dotted. Two rocks--one with a heart, the other with "deep soul." I gave her the star cup I made. We wrote our initials, hers with SS and 08, mine with KS put together so the K and S were hugging, and 82808 because I enjoy smooshing dates like that.

She asked what I thought she should do with the star. I told her she should put color in it, her own rainbow. She told me that if she had one wish for me for the future, it would be to fully share myself in That Way and Fall In Love. I do as well. I wait. We'll see what sneaks up on me.

We set up another appointment for before I leave.

I drove to Laura's and had fun there. Overstayed but I knew I wouldn't see her for a long time. Read through gaia posts written when Makuchan, Kleppy and I were sophomores. Funny.

Came home and settled the trunk. I'm buying the rainbow tie-dye footlocker (it matches my duvet covers too) with hot pink wheels (they were out of green) and space bags. 6 days of pay, 3 this week, and 3 when I'm back from Maine. My special treat for putting up with this job. I will love my trunk and feel like a real magical student.

Read through Kristin's story and it was fun.

Opened up the story Cool by minerva_fan. McHooch. I read it before, probably twice, but how many times has that ever stopped me? I have fangirled that couple since before I knew what a couple was, since I saw McGonagall back when I was 11 and was captivated, and since I saw Hooch the same day and couldn't get the image out of my mind. Since I realized it was a little strange for me to remember them mainly as my friends chattered on about Ron and Harry, whom I had barely noticed. I shipped them as soon as I realized that another amazing thing the Internet offered was a fanbase for many different couples from all fandoms.

I smiled when I read the comment about being Captain. I wondered, if the author considered herself captain, what would I be? I imagined a youthful title. A have-to-age-to-rise-in-the-ranks,-but-you-have-potential,-tyke sort of title. But as hyphens aren't my style I would leave it in the hands and typing fingers of others.

It let me drift back to days going through high school. Home, plopped at the computer, glaring at my backpack. No inspiration for homework. What shall a little Kiwi do? Oh, look, fanfic! I would open it up and hold myself back from gobbling it up, keeping it in rations so I had hope and motivation for the following days. Sometimes I cried from being lonely, having no Hooch or McGonagall or Loony to capture my thoughts in real life. Sometimes I laughed and danced, or just smiled. It let me go on to my homework in piece, taking pride in the fact that I did it at all, let alone did it well.

But beyond that I remembered how much I idolized the writers. The Debs (there were a few, I seem to remember) of the communities I scrounged. I remembered minerva_fan, and how high her pedestal in my mind was. That I thought, oh goodness, I will admire her from afar, she is a Goddess.

It struck me that I think that of people often, never expect to speak or smile at them, and frequently a time later we are speaking through some strange play of fate or coincidence. Lash, minerva_fan, Bear, Tammy, a few teachers, etc. It surprised me. I wondered how that happened. It also made me feel as though I'm growing up.

I want to write. Hopefully I will let myself soon. I'm done rambling, I promise. Waves.

(I need a Kittyhawk icon, so bad!)