It has not escaped my notice that the most likely reason I have so few real friends is the unerring tendency of most people I gain some measure of affection for to disappear.

This week, it's Amanda. Yeah, that Amanda. The one with the abusive boyfriend and the two kids, who took the bus all the way from Fridley to Bloomington every day. (In commuter speak, that's about two hours one way). Now, if it was me and I had to take the bus to get to work, I would have found a job much closer to home. I even mentioned this to her a couple times, not because I wanted to see her go, but because it was pure common sense and I often cannot keep myself from stating the obvious.

Last week, Thursday, her mother was in a serious car accident. She called in to work to say she wouldn't come in on Friday, which was fine. You do what you have to do for family. And because she doesn't work on weekends, she had until Monday to sort things out. I called her Sunday afternoon to check on her, see how she was doing, how her mother was doing. She was still a little sniffly, probably spent the whole day crying off and on, because Amanda is like that. Her emotions are pretty close to the surface, most of the time. She told me she had to pick her mother up at the hospital at 2 pm on Monday, which is right in the middle of the work day. Very, very inconvenient, considering the killer commute.  

She did not say she was planning on quitting. She talked about calling our manager to discuss whether she should come in early or late, or at all. And it would have been fine if she had done just that. But she didn't. She called the manager and left some weird message saying how grateful she was for everything, blah, blah, blah. 

So in effect, she gave up. She just quit. I can't say I was surprised. Everybody has their tipping point, and having your mother nearly killed in an auto accident getting hit by a drunk driver is a pretty strong shove over the cliff. Not to say the two events are related, really, just that the one puts the other in a whole new perspective. Also, it's been about a month since Addy was fired, and they were pretty good friends. Kind of like their reason for working there was each other. 

Back to my original point, however, this was about how hard it is for me, and probably a lot of other people, to maintain or begin close friendships when you keep losing people to the vagaries of life. It takes a lot of effort to maintain a good relationship, everybody knows this. Sometimes it's impossible to do even with the person you share your home with, much less with someone who lives 20 miles, or 3000, miles away.

I liked Amanda. She was sweet and funny and she tried really hard. I hope her life treats her better in the future, and that someday she learns how to treat herself with the same respect she shows everyone else. 

Spring has finally begun here in central Minnesota. The trees are slowly sprouting buds of the most beautiful light green. Grass is beginning to carpet lawns and hillsides. I even saw one lonely little dandylion on my walk today, a proud blaze of yellow in a sea of tiny delicate purple crocus. It rained most of yesterday, but today the sun shone bright even though it was still just a mite chilly. 

Glorious. 

Why do I always feel better in the spring? Is it just the influx of more light, more sunshine even when it's cloudy? Or is it the return of LIFE to the world? Or maybe the promise of warmth? The promise that very soon I won't have to bring a jacket and gloves and a hat every time I walk out the door? Well, I suppose I actually abandoned the scarf, gloves and hat several weeks ago, in sheer defiance of this never-ending winter. Whatever the reason, spring is my favorite time of year. 

What trick of fate has made me so content to be alone most of the time? Yes, there are times I wish I had more people to call on in times of stir-craziness, but most of the time I'm all right by myself. I used to think it would be nice to have a companion to walk with, but now I'm pretty sure I'd just get annoyed. No matter who I'm with, I always end up falling behind, mostly because I'm slow. Even when I tell myself to walk faster, I always end up spending more time looking at things than focusing on the point of the walk, which is exercise. 

Add another person to the mix and maybe they'd serve to keep me on task, or maybe they'd just get annoyed with me. 

This stream of consciouness thing is a little odd. Nothings really connecting to itself, even in my head, but I thought I'd give it a shot anyway. See what shakes loose, you know?

J should be getting home to DK soon. I hope he had a good trip. He has to be back at work in a couple days, doing I don't know what. Starts filming a movie soon, as an afterlife gameshow beautician in a movie with some Danish comedian called The Duck, and I still vote for Sean Connery's lost library over a cave any day. J will know what that means.

My co-worker Kim and I were on the Saturday lunch schedule this week. This time it was my grand idea that we went with, and we were a HUGE hit. Being spring, everyone is hungry for veggies, right? Well, what's better than shish-kabobs and a pasta salad? With a peanut-butter chocolate chip cookie bar for dessert? Yummy. And everyone else thought so, too. Yeah for us! We make a fabulous team. She's got this husband who knows how to grill, see, so I made the pasta salad with more veggies in it than pasta and the bars, and she did all the putzy work of putting the kabobs together. Of course, all my victories must be tempered by something, which means I spent nearly the entire afternoon with this old lady who smelled vaguely like fish and couldn't see and wouldn't let me go. This is Saturday, the busiest day of the week when the whole point is to be circulating so Everyone gets help, right? I mean, she was nice enough, and all, but being old doesn't mean you get to be selfish does it?

I suppose age does bring with it a certain sense of entitlement...

I made myself a very large whiskey sour when I got home from work, which at first reminded me strongly of the ones Dominic at the 90s makes until I added a little more sour. But don't worry, I still managed to walk a straight line when I went out for my walk. I may have been slightly gigglier than normal, but thankfully I am mostly a happy, and quick, drunk. By the time I actually went outside, I was fine. Certainly by the time I got home at 7. Then I filled my water bottle, and sat down to watch Numb3rs and Moonlight. Disappointingly, Mick keeps his clothes on this week. Too bad. He's got a great chest. Nothing compared to Cash (I must remember to find out what his real name is...) on Men in Trees, of course, but he's a god, so there's that to consider.

Now what would make me go from whiskey to discussing men's chests in one paragraph, I wonder? J would certainly have something to say about that...

Well, now that I'm rambling, I believe I will find myself something better to do. Night!

Jinx

OK, so here is proof of just how very excited I was that J came to visit.

Three, count them, three, separate members that I help at work asked me how my vacation went. I must have been more than a little bit annoying/excited for them to have noticed, and remember to ask me about it a couple weeks later. One of the girls I work with described me as "glowing" the day before he came, even. OK, then. Obsess much?

The aftermath of drinking a whole pot of coffee -

I slept maybe three quality hours on Saturday night, which meant Sunday was a lazy-ass waste of time. I barely managed to get the dishes and laundry done. Read way too much trashy fiction. Watched on of my favorite shows, Moonlight, twice. (New episode, new season, and Mick walks around without a shirt! A lot!) I did, however, get to spend several minutes talking to Dan, my cute guitar-playing neighbor while we did laundry. Whom I have decided is not gay, after all. Wishful thinking, or just a better read on him? Don't know, but he's just not. Is it the fact that the first thing he did was ask if I was moving out, since someone had been making all kinds of noise the day before? Or that he asked if he ever made too much noise, since we share a wall? Or that he just doesn't have that Minnesota gay boy twang in his voice? There just isn't a good way to quantify a gut instinct, I guess.

Anyway, I didn't really get much done on Sunday other than that little bit of nothing, and still managed to not go to bed until midnight. But that's when the bear sat on me. I woke up at 9:42 am this morning, and had to be to work 15 miles away by 10 am. Perhaps you might find it convenient to compare me to SuperGirl when I tell you I made it there, showered, dressed, make-uped, breakfasted, teeth brushed, with lunch in hand, and was only a mere 5 minutes late. I confess, I may have broken a few traffic laws and played fast-and-loose with a couple slightly reddish-yellow lights to do it (I even went over train tracks right after the lights started flashing!!), thus tarnishing my rating-of-goodness on the Super Hero meter. But damn! 

The moral of this story, obviously, is know your limits, and respect them. Imagine if some industrious traffic cop had decided to make an example of my bad example and pulled me over. Would luxuriating in a boatload of caffeine two nights earlier have been worth a speeding ticket? Ummmmm, no? 

Please note the fact that I had way too much coffee today, too, though I got a bit of a late start since I wasn't able to have my first cup until after 12 pm. Too much to do. Needy, needy members. The worst kind, mostly unable to think for themselves or follow directions. Or maybe I only thought that because their neediness prevented me from getting my first cup of morning coffee until it was no longer morning...

All right then. That's pretty much all I've got for today. 

Jinx      

So, even though I knew it was a bad idea, I drank a whole pot of coffee when I got home from work today. Anytime after 2 or 3 pm is almost guaranteed to mess with my internal chemistry. I even told myself it was only going to keep me up too late, not let me sleep, make me jittery, etc.

Of course, I am notoriously bad at following my own good advice. Even worse at taking good advice from other people. I just get stubborn, almost mulishly so. Defensive, even.

What is that about, I wonder? It's always been that way. Just the thought of listening to someone tell me what to do makes me seethe. At least when the instructions are unasked for. If I invite criticism, that's one thing.

No, it's only when someone feels the need to comment from the peanut gallery, or from the pulpit, or from inside my own head that my natural instinct to do the exact opposite of the suggested action comes into play. Does anyone else have this feeling? A seep-seated resentment that seems to radiate from my stomach, up through my chest, that I am sure must stream from my eyes in a red laser beam. Or, that's how I imagine it, anyway.

This feeling makes me do things that I know are bad for me, or not do things that I know are good for me. Pure self-destructive stubbornness on my part. My curse is I know, because I am blessed with an overabundance of common sense and imagination, what the ultimate end result of my choices often are.

For instance, I know that drinking that whole pot of coffee is the reason my chest now feels like I swallowed a battery. I love coffee. Love, love, love coffee. But I know better. Did it anyway. Now, I know what you're thinking. It isn't the end of the world. Tomorrow's Sunday, and since I don't attend church, I have nowhere I need to be and no reason to get up. I could laze away the morning, and it would be all right.

But that would be missing the point. Some would say bad choices and a tendency toward self-destructive behavior is inherently human. But I say that it should be just the opposite. Once you know a behavior or choice is bad, shouldn't you be able to decide to choose the path with the most beneficial return?

Yeah, right. Like that's ever happened in the whole of the known universe.

I make bad choices for myself every day. I just don't know how to make good decisions a more consistent habit than bad ones, you know?

Whatever you do, don't try to give me advice. Or if you do, make sure it's the opposite of what you want me to actually do. Maybe a little child psychology would work?

Jittery in Mpls

Jinx 

Before I can shut the door on my past, completely and forever, I need to say just a couple more things.

J tells me that my cousin is old news, not interesting anymore. That I'm healing myself, and he just doesn't matter anymore.

Of course, J is almost right. Almost. I'm almost there.

Maybe J just didn't understand how important, how very momentous it was that I showed him my cousin's picture. A face to go with the horror. I have no idea what reaction I was expecting, but that wasn't it. J telling me in the same breath that the face of my molestor wasn't as important as the fact that I had chosen to heal myself was... startling.

I wasn't prepared for being dismissed. I imagined it so many ways. I was ready to cry. To have to talk about it. To say out loud things I've never said to another living soul. Well, almost ready. There was relief in not having to talk about it, too. Probably why I didn't say what went through my head. "Not interesting? Says who?"

But the fact is, I feel completely differently about being the victim of child molestation than I did a year ago. See? I can say it. And not feel like a victim, anymore. Now there's a miracle, right?

No, I'm not a victim anymore. I will survive this and be a better, stronger person for it. There are just a few more things I need to get off my chest before I can move on to my future.

One, I fucking hate that I am a statistic. Another faceless number among the millions of children who have had to face a trusted adult in the darkest corners of their souls. J puts it so well. A child should never be put in the postion of having to either tell on a loved one and possibly have that person be alienated from the family, or even imprisoned, or not be believed. Ironically, J & I heard some lawyer in Kansas, I think, talking on the radio about giving the government the legal right to seek the death penalty for child sex offenders. And giving the choice to the victim, as if an eight year old would even understand what the death penalty really meant. I love watching J get worked up about the things he's passionate about. 

Two, what if I am not the only little girl my cousin molested? Was I his one guilty secret, or are there others? Can I live with that kind of guilt? Would my speaking up, being brave enough, have saved this kind of torment from happening to someone else? How will I ever know? 

Three, should I tell my family? On the one hand, I don't need them to know to make me stronger and better able to deal with this. Not anymore. No, I have something better. I have J. I don't trust my family with my emotions. Never have. They're not the most supportive bunch you'll ever meet. But still. I wonder if they shouldn't know, just so they finally get it. Why I'm so different from them. Why I've always seemed disconnected from life, a little. Why I changed so drastically from a happy, active, vibrant little girl overnight to a withdrawn, introspective loaner. 

Four, see above three. 

I went for a long walk this evening in the sunshine. The temp finally, finally made it to 70 degrees. What a glorious day! I did the laundry, and the dishes (holy crap, were there a LOT of dishes), and read for a few hours. But I spent most of that walk talking this all out in my head. And aloud, I must admit. Hopefully I didn't look too crazy to passing cars and such, but it's easier for me to think things out aloud. 

In the end, I have to say that what happened to me in that dark, musty garage so many years ago wasn't as bad as it could have been, or even half as bad as things that happen to other children every day. I think what probably left the deepest scars was what happened afterwards. 

My father has told me more than once that I changed, with a question in his voice, as if he wants me to tell him why. I don't remember being that happy little girl. But he remembers her. He saw. He noticed. I'm sure my mother noticed, too.

But they ignored it. Ignored me. They're still ignoring me. They don't really ask what I think, how I feel about things. They don't really want to know how I'm doing. For most of my life, I have been uninteresting to them. How can I tell? I doubt they'd really, truly miss me if I wasn't at every family gathering. I have learned that what I do, I have to do because I enjoy it. Because it's what I want and believe in. Not for their approval or acceptance, and not because of their approval or acceptance.

J is a case in point. They are, as a group, completely mystified by our relationship. He's gay, which is a HUGE strike against him in my uber-hetero, gun-toting brothers' minds. He lives thousands of miles away. They cannot fathom a relationship of any kind that could survive 15 years from that kind of distance, and still be healthy enough to inspire a visit. English isn't even his first, or second, language. Perhaps that last isn't really a reason, but I know they wonder how we communicate.

Anyway, I guess my point is that I feel like I've been left hanging, twisting in the wind for most of my life. I somehow got damaged, broken, and instead of trying to fix me, heal what was obviously seriously wrong with their little girl, they turned away and tossed me into the corner like a forgotten doll. I was so little. So fragile. And they don't even touch me, anymore. Not without a reason. And sometimes not even then. 

I hate that I have to do all this on my own.

Damn it. I made it all this way without crying. I was doing so well tonight. I really thought I'd make it. 

I really, really hate that my life has conspired to leave me stranded without someone to trust. Well, I trust J. And he will never know just how much it means to me that he reads this. I still feel bad that I had to put all this on his shoulders, because I never want to hurt him. But as I've said before, he is the strongest person I know. He can handle it. I just couldn't do it alone, anymore. But still, the distance leaves me having to write all this out and hope that it helps, because my anchor is too far away to hold me while I cry out the storm. 

I have to trust myself, that I will be OK, that I will find my way through this. That there is a plan, a reason why I was chosen to walk this solitary path. 

Goddess grant my prayer that I am the only one. Don't let him have done this to another little soul. 30 years is too long to live with this kind of pain. 30 seconds is too long. I will carry these scars for the rest of my life, but goddess willing, they will NOT rule it. I refuse to let him win. I won't let my family hurt me anymore. Whatever tears I cry from now on will be healing tears, for me.

I'm almost ready. To let it all go. To choose my future, instead of my past.

Almost there.

Jinx 

Something is different.

Amazing, but true.

Something is different this time.

I watched him leave again, my beautiful, beautiful boy, as he is so wont to do in my life. I knew it would hurt. I expected it. I prepared for it. And of course, it did.

I miss him. As I've told the people I work with, when they ask if I'm happy to have my own space again, I would gladly keep him for three more weeks, or months, or forever. He is my family, the chosen part of my heart.

But something is different this time. Either the world is getting smaller and it doesn't seem like a death sentence to be so far apart all the time, or I really am stronger than I was the last time. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not normally a depressed type of person, but I fucking hate saying good-bye to J.

I don't remember doing much smiling the few weeks after he left seven years ago. My memory is a little fuzzy.

But this time, after I finally got a good night's sleep (no kidding, J, you wore me OUT!), I woke up giggling this morning. Fucking A-may-zing!

What was so damn funny? I don't know. I just know that my heart feels lighter than it did even a week ago.  

I wish we took more pictures. But I give you permission to post the few we did take on your facebook, because I know you're going to want to share when you finally get home.  

Big sigh.

Enjoy the journey, he tells me.  

Take home one of those black guys. As if I could ever treat anyone as an object, or a toy. I'm more a "whole person" kind of girl, even with the puppy dogs in life. I'm still deciding if I should adopt our little stray, despite the whole Forest Lake issue.

Post a profile on a dating site. Ummmmm...... Yeah, obviously that scares me, because I just spent five minutes trying to decide how I feel about that.

Now, the smoothie thing. That I can do. I may have to get a new blender, though. The one I have is on it's last legs, I think. Not really a big surprise, since it's one of my mother's garage sale rescues.

And I absolutely have to get the recipe for those tuna thingies. Fabulous! Seriously. Yummmmyyyy.

Screw it. Here's what I really want to say about the whole thing:

Who would I be in this world if I had that kind of attention every day, instead of a measly week every 7 years? What the fuck kind of game are the fates playing at?

Why do they shower some people with loads of affection and leave others stranded in a world where buses completely miss whole stops? And that isn't even the first time that's happened to me, just so you know, J.

On the other hand, I've never been kicked out of an entire state just for being gay, and completely open about it.

So maybe some people's sheer visibility needs to be balanced by another's transparency? Yin and Yang. Light and dark.

I know I'm unbalanced. My emotional fulcrum is way off kilter, leaving me twisting madly in the current, waiting for an anchor to slow the rushing tide. Out there somewhere is that person for me. 

There are whole schools of psychological thought that say in order to love properly, one must love oneself first. And yet, I look around and see couples everywhere, and I refuse to believe they're any more together than I am. So what's my problem? What is it that scares everyone away?

Should I be more open? Should I be willing to share all the stupid little details of my life that even I don't give a shit about that other people take such joy in rehashing amongst themselves?

I don't like talking about nothing in particular. This makes me pretty quiet most of the time. Do guys really want a woman who prattles about her hair, the latest movie star who went in to rehab, the long checkout line at the grocery store, the fact that some jackass in a cadillac cut her off trying to get to the gas station? That kind of inane nonsense sets my teeth on edge when I have to listen to it for very long. I much prefer silence.

Enjoy the journey, he says.

This is ironic, because I tell people the same thing at work when they start whining about how many decisions they have to make while designing their dream homes. Enjoy it, because not everyone gets the opportunity to make their home reflect who they are and what they like. 

I've spent the last year and some change trying to redesign my own life. In small ways, I think I've succeeded. 

Small ways, like pennies, add up to some serious change over time. 

Jinx    

Blue today.

Because his favorite color is blue.

Because the whole world looks gray, like the sky might cry for me.

Because this is the same color as his new cashmere shirt.

Not all tears are an evil, they say. Tears of release. Tears of joy.

I didn't even make it to the escalator, even though I planned to wait until I got back to my car. Been crying ever since.

I figure I better get it out of the way now, because I have to work all day. Can't have people wondering what's wrong with me, because if I have to tell them, I'm only going to start crying again.

J would say "How Very Scandinavian of Me." Goddess forbid we actually show our emotions, right? I hate crying in front of strangers. My face gets all twisted and red, my eyes get itchy and pink, and I always get the worst head aches. Not pretty.

I'm debating whether I should even bother putting on makeup today. What would be the point? My mascara isn't waterproof, because it's too heavy for me. Makes my eyes itch. 

Still, I love the fact that I feel this strongly. It hurts, a lot, just as I knew it would. But it's the kind of pain I don't mind feeling, because there is a world of love attached to it. 

I only have an hour to get this out of my system for awhile. I don't think that's going to be enough time. 

His plane should be taking off any minute now. Poor J is afraid of flying. Which is amazing to me, since he isn't really afraid of anything. Me, I love to fly, but am afraid of almost everything else. What a pair. 

He needn't worry. I laid a guarding spell over him this morning. He won't know what that means, but I do. And since I believe in it completely, it will work even from thousands of miles away. Imagine it sort of like a force field, of whatever material represents safety to you, and you've pretty much got the idea.

Well, I think it's time to start working my way to dry eyes. Stop thinking about it for awhile. There will probably be a few dicey moments today, but I am a master at concealing what I feel most of the time.

And there it is. A smile. A little watery, but it's there.

I miss you already, J. Safe flight. Have fun. Give everyone a hug from me when you get home. Love you.

Jinx

Again, can you say "Crash"?

Only this time it's both of us who can't seem to summon the energy to open our eyes. J said an hour ago he wanted to sleep for no more than half an hour. I wouldn't mind sleeping a little more myself, except I find actually sleeping in the middle of the day nearly impossible. And I don't fancy lying awake all night long because I slept too much during the day. I find there is little more irritating in life than insomnia. There are lots of worse things, this is true. But few rank as high on the irritation scale as not being able to close your eyes and escape the world for the few short hours of darkness. 

What a crazy week.

I discovered what it means to be truly, happily, gigglingly smashed. Several times. The bartenders at the Gay 90s and the Saloon all know that my drink of choice is a whiskey sour, although a good G & T, or a vodka lemonade wouldn't be turned down, either. FYI, the drinks at the 90s are veeerrrryyyyy strong, so if you're looking for a cheap way to get drunk fast, go there. It may also be helpful if you're just looking to find a cheap drunk to pick up...

If I had to choose a favorite between the two, I'd say the 90s. I love the campiness of it, and the drag show is a riot. And I love that they have a whole dance floor (out of several to choose from) that devotes itself almost exclusively to 80s music. So much easier to dance to, and sing along with, music from the 80s. Who doesn't love Madonna and Cheap Trick? Duran Duran? Wild West? INXS? Eurythmics? Queen?

So after a week of living with my boy, what do I know that I didn't before?

I know that it takes a surprisingly short time to become accustomed to having another body in the bed. Even one who moves around as much as he does. He did warn me ahead of time, gentleman that he is. Still, it answers a question I have wondered about. I love my bed. I love having it to myself. But I will miss having him there, waking in the middle of the night when he starts snoring - just a little, and never for long ;-) This means I can safely assume I might be just as amenable to sharing with an entirely different sort of man, no?

I know that I am stronger than I was the last time he was here. And so is he. When he was here in high school, I told him I thought his life reminded me of a roller coaster. And an extreme one, at that. Lots of sharp corners and highs and lows, dips, turns and curves. I asked him if he ever wanted to just get off for awhile. I don't remember what he said. Possibly because he never said? I think it just made him laugh. 

But what I mean about being stronger is that he seems to have his roller coaster mostly under his own control now. The innate promise of the boy I knew so long ago is now manifested as an amazing, beautiful, wonderful, intelligent, yet unsurprisingly fairly selfish and vain man. I love him to distraction, can you tell? 

As for myself, because I am stronger, emotionally at least, I have the choice of whether to let him hurt me by his carelessness. I know him. I know him so well because I am the same way. I want what I want when I want it. The only difference is that J revels in actually going out and taking what he wants, regardless of what the people around him might want to the contrary. I'm still working my way toward that goal. I don't know if it's being an American, or being a woman, or just an ingrained habit, but I'm still trying to get that little voice in my head to stop telling me I can't do or have exactly what I want.

I know that my apartment is just as small as I thought it was. There really isn't room for two people. Well, maybe if I edited some of my stuff to make room. But even then, it would be cramped. But as I told J and Tommy (who has asked, very politely, if I will adopt him as a friend), someone would have to shoot me to get me to move unless something better came along. And by better, I mean preferably in a whole other state and time zone, where I don't have to have a car, but instead could have a dog. Or a man. Or both, even. 

I love spring in Minnesota, because it feels like waking up after a long, long nightmare. Do I have the courage to actually do that, though? Move away from friends and family to start all over in an entirely new location? 

Here's what I think. Even if I didn't before, the seed of that kind of strength is there. I loved living in Denmark. L O V E D   I T  !!! I loved living up north working at a resort as the live-in resort cabin cleaner for a summer when I was a girl. Two whole months away from home. Fantastic! No brothers, no parents, and incredibly beautiful scenery. 

I can go for weeks without speaking to my family. Not to my parents, not to my brothers. I often wonder if they all talk to each other more than I do. I suspect this is the case, because they all frequently know things that I never heard about before. What's infuriating about this is they are all surprised when I don't know what they're talking about. My point is, what the fuck's the difference if I don't speak to them for weeks from Minneapolis, or from San Francisco? Seattle? Miami? Oahu? Prague? Sydney? 

When I was girl, I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. Nada. Zilch. Nothing. But I did know that I wanted to travel. I wanted to see the world. I had a plan to just work my way from city to city, country to country, doing odd jobs, wandering until I found a place that felt like home. By nature, I am not a rootless person. I need stability like I need air, which is probably part of the reason my dream hasn't yet manifested itself. But where I am does not feel like home. It has a sense of the temporary about it. Don't get me wrong. My apartment is very comfortable and homey, and I love being in it. But it isn't home the way it feels when I'm with J. 

You know what I mean. The sense that wherever you are in the world, home is the person you're with. The belonging and acceptance that comes from being with someone who knows all your faults and little pecadilloes and loves you anyway, or perhaps even because of them. How do I explain what I mean properly? Is it fair to call J my brother when I already have three who figure less in my thoughts than he does? Is there a special classification for someone who isn't a lover or technically family, yet is so much more than just a friend?

I am so tired. I cannot complete my thoughts in a coherent way and even hope to approach full understanding of such complicated topics. All I really mean is, I never felt at home in the home I grew up in. I never felt at home living with my roommate for 6 years. I may love my apartment, blessing that it is, but I wouldn't cry, overmuch, if I had the chance to leave it behind. It isn't home, either, because it doesn't contain the one ingredient required to make it one. Love.

Perhaps my discontent has less to do with my physical location than my emotional one. J as much as told me that my problems lie within me. Duh. I knew that, already. Why else spend hours and hours writing it all out? The problem is I don't have a frame of reference for something different.

I dreamed as a girl of traveling the world and finding that one perfectly beautiful place, that one perfect person, that one group of friends who would never let me down. What stopped me? I think it may be my belief that my problems and issues will follow me wherever I go. I can't outrun them, I can't ignore them (for long), and I can't expect that any one place, person or thing is going to be able to fix them for me. That journey, I believe, is best done on your own, from the safety of your comfort zone.

It is now two hours since the boy started his nap, and I hear sounds of movement, though not actual activity. I suppose I ought to go roust him out of my bed so he can get in his run before the sun goes down and he doesn't get another chance for a couple days.

Don't tell him I was right when I predicted he would make me cry. I just can't help it.

Jinx 

Can you say "Crash?"

After checking his facebook and sending an urgent instruction to his roommate to be sure and buy cat food for Erna, he went to take a nap for a half hour, then we'd eat. The time was 7:45 pm, and he meant to get up at 8:30 pm.

Being just a little tired myself, I thought a nap sounded like a plan. So I set my alarm and layed down, and enjoyed the darkness and quiet. But after 15 minutes, I was done. Napping, that is. Of course, my body clock isn't screwed up.

I was still hungry, though. I figured I'd let him sleep a little longer and wake him up.

He's going to tell me that he couldn't bring himself to get out of my nice, big comfortable bed to eat the spaghetti, garlic bread and capreze salad I spent a half hour whipping up. But being my J, I probably won't get much more than that, and he may not believe this, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

I discover that what might have bothered me even a few years ago, just doesn't anymore. I love knowing that I know him that well, or at least I think I do. He may surprise me. He's good at that, too.

But his dinner is safely ensconced in the fridge, and if he doesn't eat it, I certainly will. Never waste perfectly good spaghetti. Or perhaps I should say, perfectly good spagheti sauce on seashell pasta. I even added a quickly sauteed red onion and some freshly snipped basil to make the store brand a little more lively. Not being a vegetarian, I usually add hamburger, too. And fresh garlic bread on whole grain rye bread from The French Meadow Bakery slathered in the real butter he made me buy at the grocery store.... He really did miss a treat. I make killer spaghetti sauce when I get creative. Too bad it's just never as good left over.

OK, enough teasing. I really, really don't mind.

I'm sitting here trying to decide if this is an actual facet of my personality that would cross over to another soul who dared fall asleep on me, say a real boyfriend, or even a girl friend who came to visit, or if it's just the fact that it's J.

I am not your typical girl, I guess. I suspect that the mere consideration of this topic here in my journal will influence my future behavior should another such situation occur. Simplified, just having thought it out this thoroughly means that my emotions will have a memory to fall back on.

The only thing I really mind is the lost time. There is so very little of it, and it moves so fast. Like the clock has taken speed, rushing to get to the finish live as fast as it can. This is not a race I want to win that quickly. Perhaps this is why I cannot stand to have a gear-driven clock in my bedroom. The ticking of the passing seconds only seems to get louder in the stillness of the night. I mind that his internal clock is using my time to reset itself. But you cannot fight the basic laws of nature. Or at least, I can't.  

That said, I really wish winter would give up and go away. I want spring to have sprung, the sun to come out, and this damned snow to shovel its' way to hell, for surely if there is a hell, they might appreciate it there. So many impossible things might happen if it did finally snow in hell.

Shoot. I was going to use this evening to do the mending J brought with him. Forgot all about it until just this minute. The sweaters will be a breeze, but the jeans are another matter entirely. Even at my best, and I am pretty good, this is going to be an ugly repair. I can't decide if I want to use an iron on glue type of repair, or just zig over the ripped edges. Either way it's going to compromise the integrity of the material, which is already faded and very soft from years of loving abuse - as favored pairs of jeans tend to get. It also means digging out some of my old jeans leg bottoms, from whichever bin I've stashed them in. I always save them for just this reason. Never know when some fool will need me to fix a giant hole in the bum of his favorite pair of jeans.

Here's a tip: Never tell, nor prove, that you are good at something you do not want to be asked to do. For the law of the universe states that if you do... well, you get the picture.

Is it flattering to have someone bring their mending several thousand miles across an ocean and half a continent just to have my talented fingers spend 15 minutes stitching holes? Yeah. It is. I'll admit it. Part of me really enjoys that.

It's late, now. And I am getting tired, at last. What I really want to do is go crawl in bed next to my boy and enjoy listening to him breath, but I know I won't be able to sleep myself for awhile, yet. I might as well see what I can do on the Home Front, maybe pop in a movie to occupy my mind. Perhaps a fix of Johnny Depp, who never disappoints...

Ah, well. Life once again reminds me that perfection is a very hard commodity to come by. Good thing I'm practiced at making the best of the imperfect.

Good night. And good morning, J. I hope you slept well.  

Jinx  

J has just stated very emphatically, yet facetiously, that everything he does is fabulous.

He thinks this is facetious, anyway, but I know better. He is fabulous. Almost magically so.

See, he's just brought me another drink. A "Jim & Tommy," or as we Americans call them, a Gin & Tonic. Mmmmmm..... Love the alcohol. This is the reason I bought my very own mini bar. I've decided I like cocktails, almost better than a good glass of wine. Although $3 buck chuck is pretty marvelous.

Right now, J is going through my photo album of my first trip to DK. I must stop, and go look with him.

More later.

Jinx

Big sigh...

He's here. Tired, beautiful, sweet... in the shower getting ready for bed.

I was so worried that we wouldn't still click after all this time. How awful would that be, to have to spend a week with someone who used to mean something to you, but now doesn't really work? But he's so easy to be with. Like he's part of me, or something.

That may have something to do with the Huge hug he gave me when he finally got off the plane this afternoon. He smells soooo good.

Now he wants cotton balls... Must start a shopping list so he doesn't forget something important.

The waiting is over. The relief... Now I must enjoy every precious second.

Night. 

Jinx