(no subject)

まか不思議なことがまもなくイギリス中で起ころうとしているなんて、そんな気配は曇り空のどこにもなかった。



If some kind of mysterious event was shortly going to take place inside of England, the weather became even more cloudy in support of the idea. In contrast to yesterday's overall happiness, I'm not particularly pleased with the diagram for this nor am I in love with the translation. I think I have the major phrases correct. まか不思議なことが is "mysterious thing (subject)" and まもなくイギリス中で is "shortly England inside-of" and 起ころう is going-to-occur, I think. The big string としているなんて is... er... It looks like a subordinating thingie. We know that と言うのが is a nominal subordinating thingie, having seen it twice before. I think it's reasonable to assume that としているなんて is a similar sort of thing. Moving onward, we have そんな気配は as "That trend/indication (topic)" and 曇り空のどこにも as "even more cloudy" -- this is rough, but it'll have to do. なかった is, of course, "became". I'm not thrilled with the job I have done here, but I do not know how I could have done it better. *sigh* There will be another tomorrow.

In real life, here, it's cloudy and grey outside, ominous like in the book, too. I expect it'll rain. I picked my peonies yesterday and gave them to grandma because they turn into soggy balls of mush if they get rained on... better for them to be in the old-people home making grandma happy than for them to be in my yard as soggy balls of mush. Grandma thought so, too. Here's a picture of a Prince Baskettail that I took the other day, when it was NOT grey and ugly outside.

Ma'am, put your hands up and step away from the search engine

One night in the summer of 1990, when we were both naked and he in me in his squeaky bed in his parents' house, he dared to tell me (quietly, half-hoping I wouldn't hear) that he loved me. I heard. After the initial round of (whispered) "What did you say?!?", I cried because I never thought anyone would say that to me on purpose. He cried because he was afraid I'd throw him out of the bed. I'd told him that he wasn't to tell me he loved me, you see, because there was no need. I was already fucking him and there was no point complicating perfectly good fucking. He had cause to worry. But I didn't throw him out of bed. I said I loved him back, which I did. And there, in the dark, I asked him to promise me one very, very important thing. I asked him to promise that when he did not love me anymore, he would tell me so and not lie about it. I told him that if he ever wanted me to leave, all he would have to do was ask and I would leave, no difficulty, no screaming, no nothing. And there, in the dark, he promised me that if it ever came to pass that he did not love me, that he would tell me so, straight up, instead of continuing to fuck me while lying about the whole love thing. I believed him.

One afternoon, in the spring of 1991, after determining that he'd been using me as "a convenient piece of ass" (that's a direct quote, btw.) for about four months, I asked him the following question: "So what do you want me to do? Do you want me to go away and never talk to you again?"

"Yes."

So I did. I never called him again. I never wrote to him again. I never saw him again. I never demanded an explanation. I sent someone else to get my stuff from his room.

When the internet came along, I searched for data on him, from time to time, just to see what he'd been doing. (Okay, I was hoping to find out that he was miserable and stuff, but that's my perogative, here.) I always figured he'd be present on the internet. He was a compsci sort of person in college, a little on the geeky side of things. I figured him for the sort who'd find the internet a tremendous playground. I figured there would be *something*, but I didn't turn up jack until today. Today, for the first time, there was something. His fraternity's newsletter had an item that made it onto google. He's married, with three kids. It listed an email address for him in the item.

Understand right now that I won't be emailing him. There's nothing to say, and I *did* promise to go away. My word is worth something, even if his isn't. It's just... my god, that hurt like hell. It still hurts, like a bad break that never healed up quite right. I still think about him sometimes. I don't imagine that he ever thinks about me -- I was just a convenient piece of ass, after all.

Bastard.