what is it?

Reading The Architecture of Desire, I find that the relationship between Casaubon and White Crow is foreign to me. With most people, I can see what's there between them, what they have in common and what they see in each other. (With almost everyone I can tell there's something happening. Habits of speech in common, acknowledging touches or animal noises, even looks.) Occasionally there's a set of people that I like but I don't understand the relationship at all; the parts of them that interact that way just don't come out when I'm around, or I'm not equipped to understand them. This is one of the last.

I assume there are people to whom the relationship as written feels as comfortable as the inside of Ekaterin Vorsoisson's head does to me. I wonder if one of them could explain it to me.

bulwer-lytton!

Ladyfingers crackled like knuckles in the distance, and a string of Black Cats was a more substantial reminiscence of back and shoulder joints, but it was the flatulent hissing and keening of the younger kids' Vesuvius Fountains and Whistling Chasers that enlightened Lee Bob: he hated the Fourth of July because it sounded like getting up in the morning.

lost

I am so annoyed. While my bag was lost, I gained someone's empty prescription bottle (Cipro. Heh.) but lost the two things that are hard to replace. They couldn't have taken my embroidery kit, which is $10 at the fabric store and I have it back better than ever. What I lost was a cd of photos and all my notes from brainstorming with elisem. All is not lost; the photos didn't get deleted from the camera like they should have been, though I removed some because I thought I had room, and Elise and I still have our brains. But still. Argh.

Someone please tell me I am just a big idiot who was wrong about what bag these were in and left them behind on a floor somewhere. *sigh*