Lake Lewisia #550

Perched in the hay loft, legs dangling over the edge, Shannon watched the rest of the tour group sleeping in piles, naturally sorted into their clusters and at ease despite the unexpected accommodations. Even Ayda, who counted in her parentage a sentient dust storm and who had inherited both a bone-deep restlessness and a permanent cloud of telekinetic sand, slept at last with her sand cloud just a still outline around her. Though she had worn herself out trying to assist anyone she could with the unloading and setting up, Shannon found herself too aware of her status as "little sister along for the experience" to settle in anywhere, and so she listened to the night creakings of the old barn and fantasized about fixing the bus herself somehow.

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LL#550

Today's Keyboard Smash

We went grocery shopping today. While out, I ran into one of the ladies from my succulent club. We just said hi in passing. Briefly discussed needing to pay our club dues, which I had totally forgotten about again. It was maybe thirty seconds of interaction.

All the same, the reminder of what I'm missing was brutal. I miss my club. I miss having that one, tiny thing each month that made me feel like I was part of a community. Not that I had friends, exactly. I do have friends, but they're all digital contacts for me at this point, even without a pandemic in play. The people at the club aren't exactly what I classify as friends--I wouldn't call them if I had a flat tire or needed help moving or was having an emotional crisis. I probably wouldn't hang out with any of them outside of plant-related events.

But it was a community of shared interests and values, with certain rituals to observe. It was, I suppose, what many people get out of religious affiliation irrespective of the spiritual beliefs involved. It's that place you go, those people you know, in a very specific context, with a specific schedule, and you know you have that one thing no matter what.

I miss that so much.