in which i carry on

I thought that having time to let my mind wander might bring about more words, more deliberations, pontifications, or observations. But, all this time hasn’t made me want to write about anything but you. You lurk for me in the quiet places even though I’ve tried my best to tell myself that you need to leave my mind. You’re just so perfect there. I know you’re not really perfect but it’s what I want most, the imperfect parts. I’d like to help your through them or just accept them. It’s the desire that makes you perfect, the glossed over effect of faraway vision. And there is this wall, this insurmountable barrier that even though I want to flail against it, I’m kinda glad it’s there. Because perfect (or imperfect) is easy from far away and always less painful. So the choices I have could be made simple. I could give myself a deadline. I’m good with deadlines, goals. I know how to reach them or let them go. I’m good with finite, or I’m just more accepting of it. Maybe that’s the answer, a day, a time to know for good if good is what we could be.

breathing room

I finally have hours to fill, hours that are not already predetermined or pawned. And I have a headache. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. I pretend that I don’t, but I do. You’re in the back of my mind always. Haven’t you forever been? But, I do the thing I always do. I’m just continuing my pattern of filling the spaces where you should be. I pack it in, I’m good at the packing, whatever I can find and I leave very little room for what I should focus on which I know is one thing and it’s not you and yet when I have time it’s you that comes spilling into these empty spaces. And I don’t shoo away the thoughts. I welcome them. I turn out the lights, turn off the noise and just let myself indulge in the memory of you- all those snippets I keep in my mind’s pocket. I pull them all out like polaroids strewn across a table and try my best to make a moving picture of a future I have no true faith in.

radio ga ga

Since the day after Thanksgiving I've been listening to Christmas music. I do it every year. And I love it. I don't get the Christmas blues that people talk about- how lonely the holidays are without someone by your side. I'm not a lonely person, I'm just a loner. Except now the time is growing closer and closer until the object of my affection is within arms length and my thoughts a vering from Christmas to attack mode.

This will be the fifth year that I have stood near him when a new year started and this will be the fifth year that I leave the next morning with longing and obsession in my heart. The daytime pre-obsession is a bit quieter this year, but my dreams are peppered with him, even with his friends. And the next day I wake up and he stays with me a little while the way good dreams do, like the object is really there, like there was never a dream at all. And then I have coffee.

Christmas songs on the radio are my background noise this season and I can't help but notice all the wishes to be near someone, cuddled up by a fire, basking in the glow of lights. I have to say that for all of that sentiment that I don't miss I do wonder what Christmas would be like with him and whether he'd be game for a tacky lights tour. While I'm not putting pressure on myself (because I know I'll whimp out) this may be the year that the radio pining starts making a little more sense.

baby mine

In a word- explosion. It’s the best way to describe it. I was sitting at my dining room table when the tiny trickle started. I sat listening for seconds thinking that it was just a new sound in another apartment. And then it was a gush, a flood, a waterfall and it was close and I ran and I screamed.

In the same chair tonight I sat while my best friend said, “Are you sitting down?” At first the thought was a tiny trickle in my mind and then the words she spoke confirmed the gush, the flood, the waterfall.

In one week two things in my life have cracked wide open. The first- my bathroom ceiling. The second- my social sphere. You see, the Object of my affection (or better my old affection, my sometimes wanderlust, my sometimes passing thought) is moving across the country to reside within a very short afternoon drive. This spins my world around, maybe even more so than my bathroom ceiling spitting on me when I pee.

My first reaction to both was a lot of bad words along with the feeling of unsteadiness like trying to water ski- the feeling of gliding, of skimming along- was within my grasp, but a little painful to achieve.

The Object has just been so perfectly out of reach, so perfectly placed on a pedestal that resided across the universe. He has been a routine for several years, a once a year face-to-face meeting, a fluttering chasm of feelings, an unhealthy amount of obsessive time wasted and then slightly forgotten. I’m a creature of habit. I like my bathroom with a dry ceiling and I like my un-gettable gets to stay un-gettable. My bathroom will be fixed, that’s what I pay rent for, but my brain pays my heat in panic attacks and that’s not good for anyone.

in which i actually write a post

I skipped two major events in my posting this February. I'm making up for that now.

Most people don't like February. They think of it as a month that drags on in the middle of winter full of crankiness and visible breath. I've always loved February because it holds my birthday. February to me is like a jewel, like the best month every invented. It's different, spicy, unconventional with its 28 days and sometimes an extra. I like a month with spunk and I like February.

This particular one brought on my 30th year which means I was born in 1977 when disco was dying and Madonna was not yet the rage. I don't hold much to age in years and what the societal conventions say about them. But, the things that bother me about age are the things I can't stop, like time. I can't postpone the fact that at some point I will be past the age of having children and at 30 I still have no idea if I even want them. That is what bothers me about turning over a year. I'd just like time to hault and wait for me to get all pulled together, then let's start back up at 21, that was good year- and a good birthday.

The second February event, of course, occurred yesterday and I so gracefully floated over it because V-Day to me does not mean flowers and chocolate (If someone was here to give them to me I would not want them. Valentine's Day is lame-o and meant for middle American men who don't konw how to show love every other day of the year.). I've decided, through some events I haven't shared with you, that I want nothing to do with dating. Maybe it's because I'm so into this single life or because I think I've found the one I want yet my love is unrequited and I'd rather live in the moments I have with him then in the lifetime I could have with someone else because when I look in his eyes it's like every place I want to go and all the places I've never been.

i could

I could make a home in your dimples, set up camp and nuzzle in. I’d be so happy there, close to your nose and warmed by your smile. I could live a lifetime there all snuggled in and curled up tight.

It’s silly to say that I could fly through your eyes, skim the surface of your blue skies. I could puddle in your tears and trickle down your cheek.

I could live on your grin, eating the happiness you share, drinking the laughter you give.

I could swim through your hair, be adrift on the waves. I could float there awhile, above your mind just wandering. I’d go from ear to ear letting you know that I was there, taking life in with you.

I could, I could, I could.

sometimes is not now

Sometimes I live in moments, in breaths of air, in words that should be tossed aside or let out to dry. Sometimes I move through moments too quickly, rushing them to get to the next, to the ones I will relive, the ones that keep me up at night, the ones that keep me hoping, that twist my days and nights around.

Sometimes I let the weight of things settle and feel the heft of emptiness. Sometimes I wish I had held the moment a second longer to make something permenant.

It is not enough to say, "I wish. I wonder." I want to say, "I know and I will never not." That sometimes is not now.

so many things

could be said about the end the year. The ones coming to mind right now are "tired, wondering, longing, hoping, excited, waiting, rested, slowed, expansed and watchful." It's been a good one, the one leading to 30 (like numbers really matter).

I could write my heart out and yet my first inclination is to stay quiet, to let it simmer then dissipate. That just seems more healthful at this point. And no, you don't know what I'm talking about. But, I do.

dear sir,

I have a crush. It’s on you.

You’ve shown up on my New Year’s Eves for the last two years. I remember exactly the moment that I noticed you. It wasn’t anything spectacular. You weren’t saving a child from a burning building. You simply walked into the room and opened your mouth. My heart sat up and said,“who’s that” and the hairs on the back of my head stood on end. From then on it’s been hard getting you out of my head. I get better and better at forgetting you and then you show up again and there goes another few months of waiting until you are at the back of mind again. I wasn’t ready for this and honestly it quite sucks.

I normally run from boys, especially the single ones. If a single boy says “hello” to me then I usually do an about face and leave the room because the “hellos” lead to “how are you” and then “would you like to have a drink sometime” and then dating (and who has time for that) and then marriage (and who needs all that commitment) and then children (and while I love them I don’t want them in my house 24-7 under my care).

But, with you sir, I want all the “hellos” your breath can offer. I want the “how are you’s” every morning. I want to sit beside you and talk about everything. I want to know about your eyes and whether you mother doted on them when you were a child and told you they were the color of the sea. I want to run my fingers through your hair because no one should have such amazing hair devoid of fingers running through it. I want to listen to music with you for hours on end and decipher the undecipherable lyrics. I want to talk to you on the phone all through the night until the morning because you live a world away from me. I want to visit you and brighten up your home with girly things and I want you to move here and be here and let this happen and above all I want to tell you all these things, but I am so absolutely scared. You’ve shaken my unshakable world kind sir and I’d like to have it back on steady ground please.