visited the family this past weekend. i looked at photos of growing up and being small. i noticed a distinct lack of my presence in many of those containing my sisters as wee ones, which is slightly disturbing as it merely reaffirms my distinction among siblings, as i fit into neither the group with the older two who are my step-mother's children, nor the group with the younger two who are my mother and step-father's children. i am a misfit. a bastard. whatnot. i cannot be sure that nostalgia is a good thing. in fact, i can say with some certainty based upon the expertise of my own experience, that nostalgia is a stupid thing, an annoying thing. we look on and fondly and desirously remember things that happened before - and then we are left with holes in our heart when we cannot for the life of us find that same smile we are wearing in photographs in our present lives and adventures. we do not picture ourselves on mountains anymore with our families alongside us - we are no longer feverishly composing nonsense in books beside ponds or on bedsides beside pillows. we are now in front of televisions pictured - on couches with popcorn and cold feet. we are now feverishly working in corporate dress alongside the miserable or the mundane. we are the mundane, our lives have succumbed to the mundane. and all this time i am saying "we" whilst intending "i" and i can only assume that you caught on.