Epilogue

Tying up a few loose ends of thought from both the blogs.

IBC: just like my fleeting but completely absorbing obsession with the waffles and fruit plate at my local coffee shop, IBC is retired from staring roles in daydreams. If I were a different girl, or my life resembled a funnier sitcom, we would have probably made out to satisfy our collective interest in sampling someone different than we expected to end up spending our lives with but I'm not that girl.

Mr. Coffee: Still pings me occasionally. Still dead to me.

My eyebrows: just about normal now.

Mom: probably out of the hospital and if her preoccupation with rescheduling her hair appointment is any indication, feeling o.k. Found out right after I wrote the previous sentence, that she did indeed get her hair done today. Yay!

The newest blog: Soulfinger has been a bit of a disappointment, save Erik's posts. The other three folks have too much life or too little inspiration to grace the pages. I'll fiddle around and see if I can archive it here or somewhere else so Erik's posts are not lost to cyberspace but I think the site will go away before the holidays.

The original blog: Still posting there. I don't know if it's the interface or just habit but I think I like writing there better than writing here. Blogger is much more flexible, has a lot more tools and interactive content, and it's free but I still like my writing in the original more.

Writing submissions: I've done none. Rightly or wrongly, I took the absolute lack of response to my shout out as a hint.

The dog: Lives much better than the many, many homeless people in this city.

Parting thought: I've talked to a few people in the last week that have reminded me of the good fortune of my birth in this country. It is a far from perfect country and part of my birthright in this country involves the involuntary servitude of my ancestors and the ugliness of racism. But in recognizing the joy that someone has in coming to a place I take for granted, I see that my pride in being American isn't pride at all. No one is proud that they won the lottery, and that's what those of us born here won in the good fortune to be beneficiaries of something that we had no hand in selecting.