Nov. 3rd, 2016

raven: subway sign in black and white, text: "Times Square / 42 Street station" (stock - times square)
So my life is full of extraordinary things I'm not allowed to talk about. But they are extraordinary things; and though I haven't been dealing with human fallibility well by which I mean my own, I'm glad to be doing the work I do; I'm glad that because of the work I do I have been invited to three work team Christmas lunches on three consecutive days; I'm glad the civil service choir are practising in the stairwell and that if the winter comes as a long spear the tip is diamond-bright.

I am glad to be nearly thirty years old and to look it, suddenly; I found a snarl of grey in my hair and saw just for an instant someone I'm going to be. Perhaps it's strange to find that an extraordinary thing but it's coming at a time where I keep seeing those glimpses; I'm still being piecemeal appraised but my supervisor has been saying, make a note of this thing and that thing, it may be years from now but you will go before a board again. The last time I did was the last time I felt like this - like I was shedding a past self despite myself - and that was another winter. It's the time of year.

Also, my teacher watched me slowly, painfully pick what I could out of a bit of Gaelic poetry, and said, "You have a mind like a steel trap" - which made me so wonderfully and instantly happy that I'm writing it down here. I have been thinking about the language a lot just recently, and why I love it so much, so deeply, without being able to articulate a single thing about why. But I am glad to have it, to have found it, to be held by it. Tha mo cuid-Ghàidhlig ro mhòr, ach làtha na làithean, msaa.

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