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October 19, 2010
I want a mentor.

A woman just past her middle-ages, perhaps. With beads in her hair that click-clack together when she moves. She will have strong hands, hands that have worked and created. She will understand magic much better than I. She will answer the questions I'm too afraid to ask.

"Oh, honey," (she'll call me honey and sweetheart and darling) "the world ain't just about you," (she's from the south, because the bayou is where magic ferments and fertilizes) "and it ain't just about that husband of yous eitha."

And I will understand, finally, who I am.