an international affair

I sort of miss livejournal. Every day, I used to look forward to being able to sit down and write. For some reason this blogger business isn't as compelling to me. Maybe because livejournal had communities, and great photo-sharing capablities. Maybe because I managed to grow a decent little readership (for me, anyway) over a three-year period that made me feel obligated to deliver. For some strange reason, I had the distinct impression that the people who subscribed to my blog had sincerely grown to care about me, and were invested in me the same way I invest in my favorite TV characters. On here it feels lonely. No one cares.

But time keeps slipping, slipping, slipping into this so-called future.

But tonight was a blast from the past. My precious Rongles called me at exactly 5 PM. My phone died as it began to singe my ear at exactly 8 PM, just as Gossip Girl was starting. It was an international call.

He mentioned that his health continues to slowly deteriorate, and as always, the thought that I can do nothing to stop this made my heart skip a beat. The fact that the overwhelming sense I am left with after our conversation is pure peace, peace at the thought of knowing true comradership, is a testament to how little his ailment has affected his brilliant mind. In reality - in physical reality - it's probably a lot. Like his body, his brain has been altered greatly by everything he has been through. It absolutely amazes me that not only has his brain adjusted, but his mind, his intellect has thrived with less and less physical real estate to run its operation. As far as I know, I'm running on all cylinders, and I can barely keep up with him. He is the only human being with whom I have been able to stay on the phone for hours - nay, even prolonged minutes - without awkward pauses and grasping for things to say. Let me be very clear: the nature of our conversation is never swapping pleasantries or drunken escapade stories. Talking to him makes me feel like I'm an Athenian boy in Aristotle's academy. Or Aristotle, getting ready to lovingly pat a young lad's firm behind while giving him the gift of thought and reason. Or was that Plato? Plato was definitely a big, lecherous queen.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that right now I am happy. Does it make me an elitist to love my brain and to love others for theirs?

PS. Search for The Mariya Alexander Show on iTunes or at switchpod.com!!! All your wildest dreams will come true, my imaginary reader.