The finale of Battlestar Galactica was EPIC.
I know, shut up already, that's all the entire internet is talking about. Well, maybe you should have watched it. It was pretty profound for a science fiction series. After the first hour of total space carnage, that is.
Some of my boys cried. I won't say who or why, for those of you who have TIVO or similar devices and haven't managed to catch it yet (Chase/Andrew/Schuyler). I won't go on about it too much, really, for I'm busy living my own incredibly profound life that has an equal amount of action and carnage and hope, death and resurrection too.
Bravo.
Echo.
November.
My much-anticipated phone call came last night and for once it wasn't what I expected. Well, half of it was expected and the other half complete surprise, cleaved down the middle in a firm dividing line of opposites and it left me confused and somewhat happy and somewhat sad and I haven't talked to anyone about it. Not Daniel. Not Lochlan and not anyone else either. Quiet once again. I don't know where to begin and so I won't even try until I figure it out for myself. I don't mean to worry people, hell I was the last of several to talk to him this week and I have a feeling my call was a whole lot different then theirs were. And so the party line goes something like this: He is working very hard, and we are very proud of him.
I guess for you coming to gape and to gawk at my life the highlight of this post is knowing that yes, Ben is okay and he is still where he needs to be right now and that is the only bottom line I have for you, so please don't ask me for any more than that and I promise not to spoil the ending of Battlestar Galactica for you in return.
