With a "Ding---" magnified through the computer speakers, "How are you?" Your greeting popped up on the little window of my yahoo messenger, now rarely used given the countless other ways of online communications (such as google chat, MSN/window's live, Facebook, and the newly heard "Twitter"?). You and I both like old things, I know, as if clinging to the past will save us from all the trouble future will inevitably bring. Quite silly, aren't we?
"fine. thank you." Whatelse can I say. Diss. is going slowly, as always; plus it was the time of the day when Eugene started to feel so sleepy that he would make every effort to STOP us from taking him to bed. The whole apartment echoed with reluctance, resistance, and tiredness.
"how are you?? sorry i can't talk now-- will be back in about an hour?" As usual, it was probably two hours later when i got back to the desk. and of course
you were gone.
I'm thinking of writing a long, long, very long email to you. Believe me, I'm thinking of it every day. But again, what shall I say except
the diss. about Asian American poetry, which has been going on forever, the beloved baby, who is by now no longer a little baby, and his impatient teacher at the super-expensive daycare, the weird water coming from underneath the carpet in our apartment--how magic-realistic it sounds!-- the rain here, the problematic(?) tax return, and all the other details of my life that constantly threaten to drown my old dreams?
oh, but, we both love life, don't we, or we must say so no matter what?
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