Social ineptness and I have always been close. We hang out with a frequency which makes me sweat just thinking about it. We’re too handy. When I should be looking out, going out, reaching out - I’m in.
By close, I mean close in a ‘that bus nearly took my tail off’ kind of way. Not close, like I want to be; with warmth and laughs and affectionate smiling and tickling.
I started to write a children’s story once but it was so awful I believe the computer I typed it on is still burning in the pail of sulphur I dumped it in after my first read through. I have even requested the internet be reset to make sure none of the words I ever wrote be read again, in any order, any time. It was about a community who lived on an island and were recovering from a terrible day. The shared a secret with each other. I though it was a good context for adventure. It was a relief to delete the first and only chapter. It needed more jokes.
I’ve always liked holding hands. There is something very, very nice about it. Jonah holds my hand on the way to school each morning. There could hardly be a more cheerful way to begin the day. With children, palm to palm is most common. Fingers through fingers goes to another level. You don’t need to talk when you’re holding hands thus. Just hold. Hands. It’s as good as a hug. Not only are the hands holding, they are a little stuck. There is no rush or intention to move away just yet.
A new chapter wouldn’t hurt.