Tonight was Christmas party No.3, a low cut shirt and highboots (deliver me on your doorstep six foot three). When I arrived I was ushered to food, crafts and body glitter. LET ME GET THE BACK OF YOUR NECK, YOU SIMPLY NEED ORANGE GLITTER. I made three snowflakes, sculpted a Fimo pebble, and let the dog drink out of my spiked punch.
It was mixed bilingual; English and ASL, adults and teenagers, hearing and Deaf. One thing I love about the company of interpreters is the full access to the best of both languages, expression through language intrusion.
YOU KNOW, I WAS *sign*, AND AT THAT TIME I REALLY *sign* *sign*, AND WE FELT *sign* SO WHEN WE FINALLY *sign* IT WAS *sign*. REALLY.
There is no comfort like ease in communication. At least for me, who often hunts precision by circumlocutorily stalking meaning, tending to start with, for example, WHY THIS UPSET HAS SIGNIFICANT HISTORICAL PRECEDENT... because one can never be UNDERSTOOD enough.
It is true though, there gets to be a point where that need becomes so disruptive one is simply better off picking daisies and humming off key, investment/return wise. I mean, I have never been important enough to hedge bets, or push the envelope... its not like failed communication with me will result in someone pushing the red button and blowing Earth to bits. Ya know? Better, usually, to walk away, make daisy-chains.
And another thing, I like getting older because I improve simply by lacking the stamina to ruin.
For what I bring (little) and under what constraint (free of), tonight was simple and unfettered. Damn Good.
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