my heart is a glorious machine;

(You know that I am tired and hungry and want the computer to just go away, please, when I post the same entry on Xanga and LiveJournal. Augh. I have been doing far too much of this lately.)

So, yeah, we went to Pittsburgh yesterday, and I--reckon I'm still a bit overwhelmed. I know that if I tried to type up the day, I'd end up going on about what happened, and leaving out what it was. I'm beginning to worry about my worth as a nonfiction writer, because this seems to be the extent of my ramblings: I will tell you what happens, but I will leave out what it felt like, what it meant, because I can't even get those to come out wordlike. I will also leave out anything that is terribly, frighteningly emotional, particularly if it is complicated, unless it is of such dire importance that I can't not write about it. Part of it might be the enforced impromptu nature of my blog entries--I have to compose them here and now, at a very specific point in time, and I have to have them done; I haven't got time to work on them. If I had my own computer, maybe I'd be able to write about things properly, or maybe I'm just using it as an excuse.

Sigh. Right. I don't even know what I'm saying. Yesterday was weird and sort of surreal, and I think you'd do better off reading Mum's post than mine.

( And yet I go on for quite a lot of paragraphs anyway. )