Butterflies become little earthquakes, remember?

Tiny bugs are nibbling on my nicely ironed textbooks. Eating it, word by words, till all the words are lost, and all that’s left is a faint hint of what used to be pain.

Gas creeps its way through closed doors and windows.

And how tiring is it when all your energy is focused at not losing your balance as well. Not losing your sight.

there are a few more things I need to jolt back to life.

To release me. so I can fall asleep already.

It’s lonely here.
Perfect and calm.

Here, my dear.

I’m walking barefoot on broken glass, a mirror, every step is a reflection of who I was and who I am.
A reflection of my failures, my losses, my joys, my love, my life.
My reflection looks older than the Me I remember.

I find it so hard when people who first knew me as She, met me only later as Shira.
People who had a relationship with me in their heads, it’s like they’re caught in the web
and the misconception of who they expect me to be.
It’s so tiring.
I don’t write my stories. I am my own story.
and I have missed my chance.

I’m 32, and probably should have gotten used to it by now, but it’s still so hard for me to be the odd one out.
I miss that sweet feeling of belonging.

Transactions are exciting. Passageways. Gentle dots of discovery.
The exact moment when seasons change. When light hits the dark. When you finally fall asleep.
No more distance.

I missed it here.
The blackness, the darkness, the open space, the room, the wide sheet I have all to myself.
Not another status update, no character limits.

A place of comfort and relief.
A place to implode, to collapse in the corner, to fall and to get up and start all over again.

I look for the words, slowly, like a hunter waiting for its prey, waiting, to follow, to leap, to tear the soft stomach of the silence until hot and thick blood gets the grass wet.

Then come the vultures.

And then the mercy.

Yes, we’re moving.
Oh, how terribly thrilling this must be for you.

So we’re moving, and we cannot be stopped.
It’s a little hard and a little emotional to leave the place we’ve lived in for so long, the place where the girls were born and yadayada all that jab, but mainly it’s just so exciting to move into our own place.
Even if it means leaving Yerushalayim.
And even if it means living in a place called RBS, which is probably the gayest name on the planet.
It really is, gosh, it’s a little embarrassing.
But so what. We both work from home and barely get our noses out the door so I suppose it might as well be in a place where they don’t charge you $1500 rent for a crumbling 2 bedroom apartment. Actually maybe they do, what do I know.
But that isn’t the point. I’d like to be in a place where people stay. Here everyone leave.
Most of our friends have left already; to America, obviously; to South Africa and Australia and Canada and England.
Only we want to stay.

So we’re moving to a new place. And it’s ours! Woo! (or at least it will be, after 300 more payments! doesn’t sound so great anymore!)
(and my tenants haven’t found a decent place to move into yet, so if you hear of any good apartment there – give us a shout! ta)

I don’t think I’ve officially announced the coming of Yaeli to the family – so Woo and Yay.
The labour story was quite a story at the time, but 4 months have gone by and who remembers it now and let’s be honest – nobody cares.
She’s 4 months old and already forges cheques and does the dishes! She has talented toes. Tamar is pretty awesome with her and if you put aside the odd kicking her in the head routine – I think she really loves her.

Onwards.
There was a space of between five to ten minutes early this afternoon when I was about to lose my mind with all this silence.
It was right after Shim came back with shiny new headphones he had got me and told me to check it out and see if it’s as good as it looks. Oh wait, let me just plug it in a listen to the sound of nothing and we’ll see.
I really do miss music badly. I need it in the car (which, btw, is really getting on my already very weak nerves lately. get in shape already!) and I need it when I work. It gives rhythm to my work, you know?
Nothing flows without it. For rhythm is a dancer. Truly.

Anyways, it’s late and all this writing is making me feel a little strange. It’s interesting how something that used to be so fluent and frequent just feels so odd now.
Well, maybe not that interesting.
I’m going back to processing mode.

Maybe I don’t need too many friends.

Maybe it’s the fact that years of (relative) social asceticism and preferring real relationships with close long friends over the virtual world doesn’t matter much when you sign it to the socially burdensome website known as Facebook and wonder who the hell is going to be on your friends list.

Ah, that list.

Some of the people on my list do know me and how I really am.

The rest who actually made an attempt to indulge in a conversation with me and were obviously ignored, are still probably wondering why they needed me to deal with in the first place.

I can’t help but thinking that they think I’m a little unapproachable, or even say, snobbish.

In real life, I don’t think I’m unapproachable.

Well, maybe sometimes – but I’m only human. At worst, I’m a little difficult to get to know. But I’m certainly not unfriendly.
I’m just… different

But Hey! Just to make this very clear, it isn’t like I completely lack social skills. When I’m out and meeting new people there’s a good chance that some of them might find me nice and friendly.

Maybe I’m shy. Maybe it’s just that I don’t have the need to maintain a list of friends. When you think about it it’s quite tiring to remember who you need to call and who hasn’t invited you over a month and why the hell should I bother.

Maybe the whole thing really isn’t that deep and philosophical. Maybe it’s just that I don’t get Facebook, with it’s flashy applications and awaiting group invites. It could also be that I’m simply too old to enjoy it (turning 30 this week but do not tell anyone).

Is it really all about the water fights and quizzes or am I missing something? Dani? Help me understand!

And puh-lease don’t talk to me about the benefits of reuniting with your long lost friends from kindergarten- I have a few awaiting friend requests from some people and I have a heavy suspicion that I’ve already filtered them before, in real life that is.

–UPDATE–
Oh, but it seems I’ve just landed on Planet Hunkydory without me even realising it (Shim, are you toying with my profile?)
So you see, there’s a purpose to Facebook after all.