Space and silence.
Nov. 8th, 2004 01:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysobelleHe called today.
Just a hi, how are you catch-up. Obviously, we haven't spoken in exactly two weeks, and I've been debating the protocol here. The phone rang and my caller ID blinked at me and I swear I stared at it without recognising the number, but feeling something just from the area code. I blinked back.
We talked. It was...I don't know. At one point I crumpled silently, very nearly bursting out sobbing from sheer jealousy and rage, but that only lasted a minute. I made myself ask about how everything's going with her. Well, it seems. We talked about work, and our cars, and our mutual tsunami of frustration with the Democratic party. He thinks we should play up our own morals-- get right down on the field with the Republicans-- and I think I agree, but with a twist: we need to talk about how yes, we're just as moral as the next folks, but we don't think our religion should dictate public policy. Tangentially, I think we deal with the morals issue in absentia: they talk about how they think issue x is wrong because G-d said so, and we come back with why we don't think issue x is wrong. What we need to come back with is why we don't think issue x is wrong AND why we don't think it's a good idea to bring one set of religious mores into the debate. It's fine to revere and love G-d, and it's fine for us to say that, but we also need to be absolutely clear that in a country founded on religious freedom, governing from the right hand of the Pope is exclusionary and divisive, and I don't know about you, but I'd look pretty silly in a black dress and linen cap climbing aboard Mayflower II. Where the hell would we go, anyway?
Anyway.
So I got over it again. Mostly. I still feel decidedly adrift and odd. I can't see how the stitches in my back are doing, and they feel like they're pulling but I can't check them. It's almost creepy. Thank G-d I can shower tomorrow. I think I might even treat myself to a bath. I need to do something for me-- I feel like...I feel like there's a seven-pack of Lexapro in the kitchen and it's calling me.
Just a hi, how are you catch-up. Obviously, we haven't spoken in exactly two weeks, and I've been debating the protocol here. The phone rang and my caller ID blinked at me and I swear I stared at it without recognising the number, but feeling something just from the area code. I blinked back.
We talked. It was...I don't know. At one point I crumpled silently, very nearly bursting out sobbing from sheer jealousy and rage, but that only lasted a minute. I made myself ask about how everything's going with her. Well, it seems. We talked about work, and our cars, and our mutual tsunami of frustration with the Democratic party. He thinks we should play up our own morals-- get right down on the field with the Republicans-- and I think I agree, but with a twist: we need to talk about how yes, we're just as moral as the next folks, but we don't think our religion should dictate public policy. Tangentially, I think we deal with the morals issue in absentia: they talk about how they think issue x is wrong because G-d said so, and we come back with why we don't think issue x is wrong. What we need to come back with is why we don't think issue x is wrong AND why we don't think it's a good idea to bring one set of religious mores into the debate. It's fine to revere and love G-d, and it's fine for us to say that, but we also need to be absolutely clear that in a country founded on religious freedom, governing from the right hand of the Pope is exclusionary and divisive, and I don't know about you, but I'd look pretty silly in a black dress and linen cap climbing aboard Mayflower II. Where the hell would we go, anyway?
Anyway.
So I got over it again. Mostly. I still feel decidedly adrift and odd. I can't see how the stitches in my back are doing, and they feel like they're pulling but I can't check them. It's almost creepy. Thank G-d I can shower tomorrow. I think I might even treat myself to a bath. I need to do something for me-- I feel like...I feel like there's a seven-pack of Lexapro in the kitchen and it's calling me.