rule no. 468 about the universe

Going shopping for a dominatrix outfit for Halloween is the self-esteem equivalent of spending eleven days trying on bikinis in 360-degree mirrors under flourescent lights.

exhaustion

You would think it would have occurred to me before today that, having been in therapy for almost 14 months, it would be around the time when the digging gets deep. But you would be wrong. I've been working with the terribly misguided notion that my time with The Therapist was drawing to a close. Silly me. As the song says, we've only just begun.

After a heart-wrenching session that left me addled by my own mind for most of the day, J. and I went to a meeting, and then I quite nearly assaulted a drunk guy on Damen Avenue who had the audacity -- the audacity! -- to almost wobble into me (I really thought I was going to have to beat the crap out of him when he did a double take and tried to start something with us after I made a snide comment), and I think J. really might have thought I was going to lose my mind.

[Though he did say, later, that he sees now that he doesn't have to walk me home anymore, as I can clearly take care of myself... but I digress.]

I ended up letting J. cook me dinner -- salad, asparagus, baked potatoes -- before I launched into an exposition of all the things stewing in my head, an act which culminated in me crying at his dining room table. But it was a good, good thing -- we were both more vulnerable than usual, and I think he could really see the things with which I'm struggling, and of course since I am reluctant to share any weakness with anyone, this was a first. And even more of a first? He was compassionate and kind rather than telling me I was an idiot for feeling the way I do. Tonight, I feel just a little bit safer with him. However, I still wish fairies would come in and clean my house and do the dishes. That would be a real relief. I suppose I'll have to do with a kick-ass boyfriend in the meantime. Namaste.

thursday plans

Wake up at 8am (with any luck, on time, given that it's 2am and I'm still up). Shower, shave, make myself look pretty, head downtown for a job interview (for freelance work).

Then: head to Lakeview to pick up The Cute Electrician's car, which I am borrowing to go to therapy because I have to get back to Lincoln Square ASAP after said therapy session, since I am hanging out at J.'s house for the afternoon to let in the AT&T guy, who is set to arrive between 2pm and 6pm. Except that I have therapy in Evanston until 2pm. Hence, the car-borrowing, plus lots of finger-crossing that AT&T will be dysfunctional and NOT actually show up on time.

And I was supposed to to take Renegade and his friends to Chicagoween tomorrow afternoon, but I really really really want to see Marti Kheel at Women & Children First, and so the classic conflict returns: satisfy my selfish desires or give my kid what he wants? (Then again, I can always take him to Chicagoween on Friday, right before I slip into my dominatrix outfit and make J. my slave for the evening...)

gown-crazy

As if I didn't already have a problem with my shoe habit, I've learned that the sober house's dinner-dance at the end of November is a formal event. This is going to be an issue -- I've developed quite a shopping problem over the past few months and this won't help that in the least. Sigh.

conversation, part six

Walking home from the gym, they stop at her corner.

"Virgil is going to miss you," he says, referring to the cat of his who has been particularly affectionate during her two-night stay at his apartment. "And Sasha, too."

"I'll certainly miss them," she replies.

"Of course, I'll be the one missing you the most," he whispers, just before he pulls her close for a good-night kiss.

baby steps

I'm heading to a writer's conference in Bowling Green in a couple of weeks, and J. is going to come with me. This is the farthest from home I've taken anyone since I brought The Electrician to Texas in 1996. Fingers crossed, but I know it will all go quite fine.

monday update

My idiot landlord has decided to paint my back stairs (which are enclosed) with oil-based paint. The end result? Since I'm on the top floor, all of the fumes are making their way into my apartment. I can't even go in my kitchen, and even my bedroom smells like the inside of a paint can. The upside? I'm staying with J. until my apartment is more habitable.

We've been having a number of good conversations over the past few days, as each of us moves into a more comfortable place with commitment and our issues and our tendencies to run as quickly as we can out of any situation that means we might be losing our freedom. This is good stuff, though, and really the only remaining issue in my mind is the age difference. Sometimes it doesn't matter at all, and other times it hits me that I'm dating a man who's only two years younger than my mother. But I keep thinking about that book I read (Kiss and Run) and how the important thing in relationships is how you relate to someone, how you treat each other, whether there is mutual respect and kindness, and whether there are shared values. And there are all of those things between me and J. -- and I believe the age difference can be (and is!) a positive thing, as we are learning a great deal from each other in ways I don't think either of us expected. And, also, I get the added benefit of being treated really, really well by someone who knows what he's doing when it comes to wooing someone. This, my friends, is quite nice.

random saturday

• My infatuation with Jon Langford remains alive and well. Yay for the Wee Hairy Beasties (or: a reason to ogle him while obscured by young children).
  
• The latest book to change my life: Elina Furman's Kiss and Run: The Single, Picky, and Indecisive Girl's Guide to Overcoming Fear of Commitment. (FYI, I'm the Free Spirit version of a commitmentphobe.)
• On November 8th I'll be giving a lead at an open meeting where, on average, there are 200+ attendees. Nervous much?
• J. and I took Rebel to the Family Swim at the Welles Park pool this afternoon. It was sweet and comfortable and completely perfect in a way I have a difficult time articulating at this point.
  
• Cat Power's Jukebox is captivating. Especially adore her rendition of Janis Joplin's Woman Left Lonely.
  

halloween

J. has been a bit, uh, reticent about dressing up for Halloween. I had suggested that I'd be a pin-up girl and he could get some dapper outfit from the 40s and then it would be kind of like being in costume but mostly like feeling fancy. And then at dinner tonight -- with a slew of sober folks at Jack Rabbit Grill on Lincoln Avenue (note: yummy guacamole & even yummier portobello mushroom fajitas) -- I was teasing that I could instead be a dominatrix... and so by the end of the conversation, it had been decided that I would do that and J. would go as my slave. So on Sunday? We'll be going to get outfitted for our costumes.

The funniest thing? The costume party we're going to is immediately after the meeting we normally attend on Friday nights. Meaning that we'd go to our meeting in costume, which would certainly cement whatever stereotypes our crowd might have about what happens when a a 50-something outdoorsy carpenter type starts dating a 30-something pierced-and-tattooed writer who wears fishnets and combat boots as easily as miniskirts and stiletto heels. But their fantasies and/or preconceived notions about what things are like between J. and me? Completely wrong. That's okay, though. I think all the middle-aged men are just jealous that I didn't go after one of them.

and: oh yeah...

...Tuesday morning, I woke up with chest pains that didn't go away as the day progressed. And so instead of working out Tuesday night, I decided to go to the ER -- J. drove me, and stayed with me (The Cute Carpenter also stopped by) until almost 1am, when the doctors admitted me for overnight observation. Wednesday morning, I was given a stress test (on a treadmill) and echocardiogram in the cardiology lab. Apparently my heart is just fine, but I need to see a doctor to figure out what's going on. The best guess right now? It's STRESS. Which surprised me, of course, because my life isn't stressful in the least, right?

That being said, the trip to Starved Rock couldn't have come at a better time. We were able to hike about two miles on Wednesday and spent time in the indoor heated pool & Jacuzzi after dinner that night. Thursday, we woke early for breakfast in the lodge, a trip to Mathiessen Falls with the PR person from the lodge, and then hiked about five miles altogether -- we would have gone longer, but it started raining and so the last two or three miles were spent in drizzle, then outright rain, as we traipsed back to the lodge.

So now? My newfound hobby is HIKING (who would've thunk?), and I even bought a book that outlines 60 hikes within 60 miles of Chicago -- and of course my goal is to do all 60 of them by the end of 2009. And I do believe J. will be a wonderful companion -- I couldn't be happier with where things are right now, even though we still -- in high school parlance -- haven't "gone all the way"... I'm good with that. Really good. I'm able to consciously see what I'm doing and what needs to be done -- the good, the bad, the difficult, the heartwrenching -- and it's quite a relief not to have to rush into things for fear of abandonment but, instead, to find myself gliding, nicely and slowly, into a lovely situation... sort of like slowly putting on a warm glove that you're surprised to find fits just right, not too tight or loose, not too warm or cold, but exactly the thing you've suspected might never actually exist but just might after all.

And the chest pains? I'm following explicit instructions to reduce stress in my life -- and I'll be seeing the doctor next week. Namaste.

j. at starved rock

We had a fabulous time, and not only because of the cabin with the fireplace and falling asleep after talking in soft whispers and kissing under waterfalls. It was the first time in a very long while that I've been okay with the fact that wherever I go, there I am. Namaste.

minor annoyances

I'm fostering a quiet resentment against this guy at The Grind who's talking loudly on his cell phone which he has plugged into one of the few outlets in the cafe -- dude, this is a neighborhood cafe with wifi, not your personal charging station. I'll take some pity on him, though, because he's wearing a Members Only jacket, so perhaps he is entirely clueless on many, many things.

***

When I had a car, I was a big fan of the horn. Now that I've resigned myself to the pedestrian life (in more ways than one), I find horn-honking to be one of the more irritating city phenomena. Especially when it's at the intersection of Wilson and Lincoln -- where could you possibly be going in this my neighborhood in such a hurry that you need to lay on your horn right there? If you're in such a rush, go over to Western Avenue, where horn honking is not only welcomed but expected.

***

Someone needs to stop me from buying more shoes. Is there a shoe-aholic anonymous program? I tried calling Uncle Eddie to tell me to stop last time I found a pair (I've bought ELEVEN in the past two weeks), but I knew he was the wrong person to help when he said, "If they are sexy heels, I'm not going to tell you not to buy them." Still, I need to stop. It's difficult, though, when they are all so cute and so (relatively) inexpensive...

***

I've had a headache for about 76% of the past nine days. This is, I should clarify, not much fun.

***

All weekend, my phone hasn't worked when I've been at home. Chatting with Sprint online Saturday AND Sunday, I was informed a tower was down. Today I walked up to Garcia's for lunch and called tech support, who told me that a tower wasn't down and never had been down. Rather, my phone (which, as you may recall, was resurrected from its circa-1999 slumber when my BlackBerry was stolen) needed an upgrade. All is well now, though I'm grumpy whenever outsourcing-to-India messes with my stuff.

***

I am tired. And still depressed. And the psychiatrists aren't much help -- I hate paperwork, red tape, bureaucracy, insurance companies, and having to wait for anything much less the opportunity for someone to judge whether I'm going officially insane or simply need a medication adjustment. The last time this happened, I got fed up with waiting, walked into an ER, and during the course of the triage appointment asked, "What do I have to do to get help, try to kill myself?" which, of course, was taken as a suicide threat and suddenly I was faced with trying to avoid getting myself committed involuntarily the day before Mother's Day, 2000. I do not wish to repeat this experience.

***

I've been invited to an Orphan's Thanksgiving celebration in NYC -- now I have to mull it over. Honestly? I think J. would be hurt if I was away for the holiday. I'm meeting one of his sisters on his birthday (Nov. 9) and meeting the rest of his family would be the next logical step. So would I be going to NYC for me or to get away from taking the next steps with him? See, this is why I still go to therapy after 13 months.

***

Now: more coffee. Caffeine helps headaches, right?

conversation, part five

"Do you want me..." she begins, intending to ask if he wants her to procure a rental car for their mid-week trip to Starved Rock.

"Yes," he states.

As quickly as a hiccup she forgets what she wanted to ask.

Much later, his cologne will linger on her fingertips from when she rubbed his neck while kissing him good-bye. But right then, she smiles at how quick he was to interrupt, and she knows everything will go quite well in Utica come Wednesday.

this explains a lot

After about the 23rd day in a row in which I've been unable to get to sleep until well past 2am and then unable to get out of bed until 11am (or later) the next morning, I took a good look around my apartment today just before lunchtime -- clothes (both dirty and clean) strewn everywhere, dishes not done for a week, dust bunnies (and cat hair) in every corner, a bunch of bananas slowly going bad on my coffee table, and stacks of clutter everywhere -- and realized that I think my antidepressants have stopped working. Every ounce of me wants to crawl back into bed right now and not come out until two Tuesdays from now, but instead I'll be calling a psychiatrist this afternoon to get an appointment to reevaluate my medication. Meanwhile? This really sucks.

i. am. exhausted.

I have done more running around this city in the past two days than I have in the past two weeks combined -- and it's only going to get worse, seeing as how I'm going to therapy in Evanston tomorrow. My back hurts, I have a headache, I think I pulled something in my left ankle, I ate way too much vegan coconut cream pie at Karyn's this afternoon, all I want to do is take a nap, and I only just started my workday about 90 minutes ago. Sigh. Bedtime seems forever away from now.

six years later...

When I first became a mother, everyone told me that time would fly by, not just in terms of hours and days but months and years. And it has, indeed. Everything, it seems, happens in a blink of an eye, and it's not only during wonderful moments but also during mundane ones in which I want to time to stop, allow me to linger in the moment and taste the experience for just a bit longer. On the bad days, raising children feels like a horrible roller coaster ride -- I close my eyes, hold on tight until it's over, and pray that I won't throw up anyone. But on the good days -- and there are many more of them than the bad ones -- life becomes nothing short of magic, filled with high-pitched laughs and hearty tickle fights, trees to climb and monkey bars to cross, little (and not-so-little) hands to hold and cheeks to nuzzle my nose into. Roller coasters and all, more often than not, grace finds its way into my life through my children -- the two little boys who have taught me, more than anyone, how to love what I have and appreciate what I've been given. Today, Rebel turns six, and while I don't at all understand why time has to move so damn fast, at least I'm learning how to slow down and make sure I don't miss any of what's really important. Namaste.

getting squirrelly

Uncle Eddie says there are four people who live inside each alcoholic's head: the little kid (who just wants to have fun); the teenager (who wants to rebel); the adult (who knows the "right" thing to do); and the disease (who tries to trick us into screwing everything up at every turn). And lately -- or, more specifically, over the past few days -- the disease is really trying to fuck things up for me.

Everything's going fine in my life, right? I have: a wonderful and well-paying job; a good relationship with my children and (to some extent) their fathers; a nice apartment; a budding relationship with a fantastic man; a solid support network; a sponsor to keep on my ass; and a zillion other things that, a year ago, I would have given my right arm to have. And yet? The biggest desire I have right now is to sell all my stuff and move to New York City. Or: to apply for a thousand jobs in NYC and then act all "surprised" when I get one, leaving everyone here to say, "but of course you should go... this is God's way of saying you belong in New York..." (when really it was all a set-up from my manipulative mind).

I don't understand why -- both when things are going bad AND when they are going quite well -- I just want to cut and run. All of a sudden I feel boxed in, constrained, restrained, trapped, and suffocated -- even though I don't really feel any of those things; they are just my mind playing tricks on me, wanting to me to do everything exactly the same as I've always done so my dysfunction and disease can continue to stay on course and develop according to schedule. I don't really want to do things the way I have for my entire life, but the past few days? Really fucking difficult. It's taking everything in my power not to just throw it all away and leave the state.

And I know, I know. It will pass, and it may pass quite soon. But just as when I was in early sobriety and I didn't know how I'd go another five minutes without jumping out the window because everything was so damned hard, I don't know how I'm going to survive the next day without booking a plane ticket to LaGuardia with money I don't have. And honestly? It was easier to deal with the desire to drink. This? It seems infinitely more impossible to come to terms with my character defects, especially when my No. 1 problem is wanting to run away -- far and fast -- when I actually start making real connections with people. So, then, for five minutes (or one minute) at a time, today I'm resisting leaving. I pray I'll be able to do it.

saturday thoughts

It's difficult for me to remember what life was like before I starting dating J., since I've somehow turned from a relatively lazy couch potato wannabe into a rather active person. I actually wake up and go to work in the mornings now, saving my evenings for meetings and socializing (and -- gasp! -- relaxing). And my weekends? Well, this is the third weekend in a row -- for the first time since I started working in my current job in June 2006 -- that I've taken completely off. And yet? Our day today involved going to the beach, out to dinner with H., to a meeting in Wilmette, and back to J.'s house for relaxing and good conversation. Tomorrow? Breakfast with Rebel, followed by a kayaking trip along the Chicago River and into the Skokie Lagoons (and a meeting thrown in at some point). At this point, screw sex. I'm too tired from everything else to want anything other than a back rub and a nap.

you know i'm tired...

...when I've got free tickets to see an indie rock show, and I have absolutely zero desire to go. Preferred plans? A bubble bath, a meeting, cooking dinner for J., and then settling down to watch The 39 Steps while getting a back massage from a man with extremely capable hands. Then again... maybe I'm not tired but smart. Namaste.

the whole "age difference" thing

Many of my friends are surprised when they meet J. and realize he's quite a bit older than I am. More specifically, he'll be 53 in a couple of weeks and I just turned 35. Honestly, though? It hasn't been much of an issue for us -- besides the obvious reactions of "she's interested in me?" (for J.) and "I'm attracted to him?" (for me). But that was AGES ago, and by now I think it's pretty much a non-issue. He's more active than most men I know who are half is age, and he has what I think is a pretty sexy body. And, even more important, he has the sort of life experiences I can really relate to. Whereas when I married The Electrician (when I was 23, he was a month away from turning 35), I had barely been an adult long enough to know how to balance my checkbook regularly, by now I've had so much happen to me and in my life that I think it would take someone 18 years older to understand the magnitude of it all. Which is shorthand for saying: yeah, he's older than I am. Get over it. We like each other, the chemistry is fabulous, and he actually appreciates me as a person. And, oh yeah, he was raised during a time when chivalry was alive and kicking, which means he knows how to treat a lady. (That would be me.). Namaste.

after-dinner conversation

"I've been meaning to tell you something," he said.

"Which is...?"

"That I'm past the jumping-off point. This is a real thing for me now."

"Because it was fake before?" she asked with a half-laugh.

"No, but I think it's safe to say we're a couple now. I want you all to myself."

Later, after he'd walked her home arm-in-arm and kissed her goodnight, he admitted he'd been dreaming about her for some time.

on the way out to dinner at j.'s house

this weather? sucks

This weather is really getting to me. Or maybe I'm using it as a scapegoat. But I need some reason as to why I stayed in bed until past 11am watching Californication on DVD. Then again, I'll work straight 'til 4:30pm (a long stretch for me), walk home to take a candlelit bubble bath, then meet up with J. for a romantic evening of dinner-cooked-by-him and dessert-provided-by-me, so what am I worried about? Life is more than good. It's spectacular. Namaste.

conversation, part four

"I've been thinking about you all day," he said.

"Good thoughts or bad?" she asked.

"Everything about you is good," he replied, with a smile.

"I've been thinking a lot about you, too," she said. "Mostly about how I can be myself around you, without holding back."

"But of course," he said. "Don't you know that this is all happening is because we can both just be ourselves?"

"Mmm. Yes."

rainy tuesday

Over the past few months, I've garnered what I call a "fan club" -- a handful of (mostly twentysomething) boys/men who hang around the sober house waiting for me to show up at meetings and who, once I am there, fawn all over me. There is exactly zero hyperbole with this description -- it's as though I have my very own litter of puppy dogs waiting at the doorstep. Don't get me wrong; I'm quite flattered. But what these boys/men don't understand is that they wouldn't be able to handle me.

It has recently occurred to me that while I'm no longer the angry man-eating bitch of a girlfriend I was for so many years, I have indeed retained all of the strong and powerful aspects of my character. I am, to put it mildly, strong willed and free-spirited, and by necessity it takes a man with equal (if not greater) strength of will and spirit for me to feel as though I've met a complementary character. Looking back, I don't think I've ever found that in a partner -- the closest person would have been The Narcissist, and there was so much violence, anger, and dysfunction wrapped up in his conception of masculinity that ultimately it was a disaster -- until recently, with J., who I'd best describe as a Bob Seger kinda guy.

You see, I have this somewhat romantic conception of Bob Seger as the sort of man who was prevalent during the 70s and 80s but has somewhat disappeared: sufficiently masculine and Marlboro Man-esque yet also sensitive and not unaware of the principles of equality, feminism, and compassion. And, okay, this might be an overly generous characterization of 1970s manhood, but give me a break; it's my conception and as long as it works for me, who can argue? (OK, begging the question, but whatever.)

The point of all of this is twofold: (1) I'm finally the sort of person I've always wanted to be, albeit with a much smaller bank account and much less infamy and/or critical acclaim and (2) Despite the age difference (I'm 35, he'll be 53 next month), I really do think J. and I are a great match -- he loves the opera as much as he loves hiking, and he's as comfortable going with me to a fabulous dinner as he is staying at home cooking up a gourmet meal. Most of all -- or, perhaps, best of all -- I don't ever feel as though I have to dampen or dim the person I am in order to make him feel more comfortable. All those puppy dog man-boys? Being with them -- and I know this for a fact, because I've been with a million of them (not really, but you know...) -- means being less "me" because they are intimidated or scared or otherwise threatened when I fully spread my wings. I am 100% exhausted limited myself and my character so as not to offend other people -- and I'm 100% grateful I've found a man with whom that isn't even an option. Now if I could only find a way to get the puppy dogs to find another poodle to chase. Namaste.

the status of "things"

• Today, I bought J. a book that he saw in the window at Ecleticity. It was $30, and I'm saving it for either his birthday (11/9) or his sobriety date (11/2). Either way, it felt good to buy him a surprise gift.
• I mentioned that Rebel is going to play the court jester in the school play (set in medieval times), saying I was going to rent a car to see it. But J. said, "No need. We can go together, because I wouldn't miss it." Since I wasn't even going there in my mind, I was pleasantly surprised.
• One of The Goofball's roommates asked me out on a date tonight ("What do you say to dinner and a meeting sometime this week?"), making this the second guy who lives in that recovery house who's gotten the hots for me. Of course, J. overheard, and on our way home he said, "Feel free to tell him I'll kick his ass if he doesn't stop asking."
  
• Given our good-bye tonight, I do believe he's at the jumping-off point. And I was a bit startled -- though not surprised -- that I'm there, too.
  
• It occurs to me: falling love isn't scary when it's done in a healthy way. This has to be the first time EVER I've been interested in someone, letting myself fall down the rabbit hole, and not afraid of getting hurt, abandoned, or otherwise mistreated. And you know what? It feels spectacular. Namaste.
  

more yummy stuff

J. and I went out to dinner last night at Garcia's, and things just keep getting better and better... we're planning a mid-week trip to Starved Rock later this month (free, courtesy of my job), and I find myself actually a bit surprised that he's so excited to go somewhere out of town with me, but he is. And that's a very good thing. More to come about more things, later, once I process them all...

my grandmother...

...would have been 83 years old today, if she were still alive. But she died in April 2000, and so all I have today are memories of the love she gave me when very few others in my family could or would. I miss her mostly because she would have liked the person I am today but also because she would have loved my children, one of whom was barely three years old when she died, the other born nine days after what would have been her 77th birthday. My grandfather called her "Hon," her birth name was Anunciata, her grandchildren called her "Gammy," and I always loved her more than I seemed to be able to let her know. I like to think she had some idea, though, and, in some sense, I believe she knows that I'm okay these days, too. Namaste.

a new kind of saturday

Things I've never before done before today:

• Climb a tree;
• Participate in a crabapple fight;
• Go across monkey bars without stopping; and
• Swing on a swing for a full 20 minutes.

J. and I had gone up to Welles Park to join the fitness center, where we saw Sober Joe & checked out the exercise equipment. He was going to sunbathe for a while, so I went to grab the boys and came back to the park, where I hung out on the playground for a while (a little girl, when I was on the monkey bars, asked "Are you a mom?" and when I said yes, she said, "Holy crap, I wish my mom was cool like you," and my heart was definitely warmed), and then went to sit with J. -- of course the boys soon followed suit, a crabapple war ensued, trees were climbed, and generally we just had fun. Mmm. Life is good. Namaste.

conversation, part three

"I'm almost at the jumping-off point," he said.

"Meaning what?" she wondered aloud.

"Meaning," he replied, "That I'm just about convinced that this thing between us is absolutely what's meant to be."

thursday randomness

I spent $23.50 on mascara because (a) I needed a Sephora fix and (2) the tiny sample tube of it I received from The Polish Goddess -- she works at the makeup counter at Neimann Marcus -- is just about done for. And I swear: this mascara would be worth $50. Not that I would actually pay it. I'm just sayin'.

***

Sailor Moon called today to ask if I wanted a job teaching 3rd and 4th graders on Saturday mornings for the next eight weeks. Of course I said yes, but now I'm in the position of having to write a syllabus and develop at least this week's lesson plan within the next 36 hours. I'm sure I'll do fine, and I'll have fun... I hope.

***

Uncle Eddie was startled today when I was talking with him on the phone as I walked into my entryway and completely freaked out -- in a good way -- that the physical degree for my second MA was sitting there waiting for me. Yes, it took me 13 years to get my BA, but the three years it took to get that MA was even more grueling and it means infinitely more... it's so pretty I carried it with me to the meeting tonight and showed it off.

***

Because I adore sending people cards, I sent one to J. earlier in the week and I'd completely forgotten about it until the break at the meeting today, and he said, "I've always been averse to emails and much prefer written communication, like letters and such..." and I had such a confused look on my face, wondering why the heck he was telling me about his preferred method of communication, so he said, "uh... the card you sent?" and I remembered and it was quite funny. I am glad I continue to leave a good impression, though...

***

This whole "waiting" game with J. is starting to wear on me. Yes, I am quite skilled with my vibrator (more so than any man has ever been with my private parts, I might add, and thank God!) and I'm perfectly fine not having sex with him (yet) -- I do agree that it does change everything, and I'm not ready for that, entirely -- but this whole "lingering at first base" for, like, ever isn't exactly something I've ever done. Romantic conversations in courtyards and being walked home and receiving of yummy phone calls during the day and being told I'd look fantastic even if I were wearing a potato sack? Wonderful, fabulous, delicious, and everything a girl could hope for. But I do believe I'm ready for, oh, second base? Maybe after dinner tomorrow...

public transportation

I took the Western bus up to Peterson this morning so I could walk to get my monthly prescription refill at Target, and there was a very old man who climbed aboard at Berwyn. He couldn't hear or talk, and he could barely see -- in fact, he kept swatting at things that weren't there -- and it was very, very sad. I am utterly grateful today have people in my life who can -- and, most likely, will -- take care of me when I am unable to take care of myself. This hasn't always been the case, and I have spent large portions of my life acutely aware that if I needed to get to the hospital, there would be no one to take me. (In fact, there are many more times I have taken a cab or a bus to the ER -- alone -- than times I have been driven there.) I used to see elderly folks -- such as the man this morning -- and flash ahead to myself as an old woman, alone, riding a bus, unable to walk or talk or perhaps even see anything other than glittering pieces of dust and debris that catch my eyes at an odd angle. But it's funny -- no, actually, it's quite serious -- how lives can change in an instant, and now when I look ahead to my 80s and 90s (if I am lucky enough to live so long), I see lush landscapes dotted with friends and loved ones: I don't know where, or when, but I know I will be taken care of my those I love and who love me. Today, I am grateful to no longer have a car, or else this would have been one more day that went by during which I didn't realize just exactly how blessed I am. Namaste.

another conversation

When she called at 4pm, he asked "What's up?"

"I was hoping you were having a good day," she replied. "I'm calling to find out if my wishes were coming true."

Later, when they parted for the evening, he said, "Call me tomorrow."

"Why?" she asked, because he'd never asked before.

"So," he said, "Your wishes can come true."

Their kiss good-bye was slightly sweeter than usual.

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conversation

"Are you trying to make it difficult for me to go home?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I'm just being myself."

"I know," he replied. "And that's even sexier."