Entry posted by a goose
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The blogs on BZP are a place for opinions, for stories, and far too often for arguments.
The arguments, I do not take part in, for fear of hurting myself or others.
My stories, I do not share, because those few I have I'd prefer not to share with the internet.
And my opinions have been stated by others already, more eloquently than I could ever hope to share them.
But I'm far too inactive here, and as such I'm going to take part in two of these anyway.
As regards stories:
A few weeks ago, I was in Donegal. I would love to say I made friends, and in fact I did, although I lost them soon thereafter. But the most important thing, the most enduring thing, about this short holiday was that while in Donegal I bought a stuffed waterfowl of the ambiguous white nature.
Now, I love stuffed toys. I adore them. I have at least fifty, although most are unfortunately missing. And this is something I've shared with someone about whom I care a great deal. And when I was in that little souvenir shop, I thought of this person, and I remembered how much I cared about them, and I wanted to buy them something. And I saw this ambiguous white waterfowl, and it was gorgeous -- it was beautiful, it was adorable, I saw it and all I wanted to do was hug it (it resembled something between a grown swan and a gosling). So I bought this ambiguous white waterfowl, and later named her Gary.
I did not believe that I would ever get the chance to give Gary to the aforementioned person. This person, like many others for whom I've come to care a great deal, was not talking to me, and hadn't in over a month. This was sad, although not surprising -- I'm not the easiest person to live with, due to various aspects of my personality, and people do eventually come to be fed up with me. Those that don't, I respect very much, despite their being few in number. So I kept Gary at home, I left her on my desk, I looked at her and I thought of this person, and of the other people who have come to dislike me. And that bittersweet nostalgia which some of you might relate to filled me, and I came to care a great deal about Gary, too.
Then, just about a week after I came home from Donegal, feeling depressed and guilty, something amazing happened: this person began talking to me again.
I was shocked. I was happy, of course, but shocked. And, you know, that day is one I count as the best of my life. At least, the night -- we stayed up all night, just talking to each other. We weren't talking about anything in particular, just talking. And I really enjoyed that.
Some people are easier to talk to than others. And what I love about conversations with some people is how they don't rigidly fit a topic, how they gradually grow, evolve, go into tangents, into changes, because the conversation is alive and exciting. This person is the kind with whom I can have a conversation like that, and I had one for eight hours straight.
I told this person about Gary during that conversation, showed them a photo. At the time, it was more a joke than anything else, but they agreed with me, they had that little moment of squeeing over how frickin' adorable she was. And I came to realise that Gary wasn't mine anymore.
So yesterday, I met up in town with this person and a few other friends, and I gave them Gary. And that moment as they took Gary, while rather short-lived given I had to leave, will hopefully remain with me. Because -- from what I could tell -- they were happy. And, for the first time in far too long, I feel genuinely happy too.
I will share an opinion tomorrow, but I hope that for now this is enough. Byeeeeeeeee~ 
- Indefatigable Individual
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