Hoo boy do I get easily confused. One moment I'm happily stumbling along in a blissful (but stressfully busy) daze, having trouble achieving the heights of clarity that I used to manage more often but subscribing that too lack of sleep, laziness, post-vacation confusion, work terror, etc...
Now I'm worried that perhaps it is a lack of excitement.
I'm too young to be old, y'know? Spending half my free time with children is one thing, and it's delightful and thrilling, but there is an undercurrent of responsability there and it's hurting me.
This morning Johnny grabbed the last egg from the carton as I was making breakfast and threatened to lob it out the window at the hideous Nissan Sentra parked across the street. (that would be my great beige wonder, thank you)
I dared him.
The Man On My Couch stood there looking rather incredulous.
Johnny tore open the window and swung his arm about a bit to get a good idea of the shot.
He hurled the egg at my car, hit the edge of the window and missed miserably.
But the point was in the moment, the laughter and hilarity and mild concussive insanity of the moment.
I'd use the word wildness but I'm not sure I have the right to it anymore, decisions that I've been making lately conclude otherwise.
Oh I still laugh the way I always have and plan to continue doing so, but...
Wednesday night David and I had our first fight. It was horrible, some strange sleight of miscommunication resulted in me sitting on his couch after a phenomenal dinner of anchovie and tomato pasta, with tears streaming to my chin and him utterly oblivious in the next room.
I was convinced that he was ignoring me. I couldn't reason my way around it, I knew it was ridiculous, I know him and I know that he doesn't have it in him to do that, but I couldn't let myself believe it. I couldn't think past the coldness of it, how no matter what the intention was it still felt as though I'd been abandoned with the dinner plates and the feeling wouldn't loose it's grip on me.
Just the way his shoulders were squared when he walked out of the room without a word.
So unintentionally but I snapped anyway and we fought and cried and watched the Buffy season finale in cold silence, barely touching and my shoulders shivering with a pathetic sort of misery.
We both spent yesterday in cloudy stupours, tears in ours eyes, terrified.
I could have walked out on that argument and never turned around again, I could have abandoned all this normalcy, carefully cooked dinners for fifty-nine cent hot dogs and whooping and hollering down beer-stained streets.
I didn't because I couldn't have really. Some part of my heart is inexorably tied to the perfect slope of his shoulders, his too-small waist and strange bowed legs. Some part of the secret smile and secret courage that I've been carrying around lately, the part that lets me say nice things to people, the part that allows me to think that maybe, just maybe, there may be a little good in me after all...
That part is tied to the wet reflection of me in his enormous brown eyes.
And because of that, I am terrified that in a year when John and I move on and he buys a house and I find a less ricketty appartment (not that I will, but who knows, I might want all sorts of things in a year) then all eggings and firecracker mornings will end with him.
And I'm not ready to say goodbye to that yet. Somewhere inside I know that there is no real end to anything, I know that when this thing with David ends I will go wild again, wilder than before, wild at the sudden release and loss at the same time.
But right now I am feeling just a touch melodramatic that David doesn't like firecracker games. We discussed it last night, sweat-soaked and breathless, calling each other beautiful names and discussing first impressions of each other's lives...
And when he looked at me and repeated that he still didn't think that he was wild enough for me, this time I didn't know how to argue.
I want too much from him, but only because he has already given me the world...
And the Gemplus team for the first annual GemAthlon is ready to go, we're getting t-shirts made with our team name inscribed on the front "whoop-ass" spelled phonetically, it's a very complicated inside joke, and our horrendous nicknames across the backs.
Mine is "Eponge a gerbe". Look it up, I ain't explainin' it.
I'm team captain, the lazy bastards. But I've got plans for the cheerleading squad already. Seriously...
Tomorrow I get to partay with cf and Mysteria.
Tonight I get to partay with other people, Sunday with other people still.
Maybe that'll calm the storm in my gut a little, but I'm not sure...
I'm just afraid of forgetting my ideals. Not changing them, but abandoning them out of laziness.
I'm afraid of becoming unthinking.
~