the things you know and the things you don't know
What a strange 24 hours. Everything is completely normal, and so many things are different.
It's been a good year - so much so that, obviously, I haven't been posting, and this is a thing I want to change, a habit to break: I want to post when I'm happy, too. I thought about that question-a-day meme but I always lose interest. LiveJournal is the one thing I'm still staying far away from when I'm at work, which used to be when I always posted. It's why Diaryland called to me, all those years ago; it was somewhere to vent when I was lonely at work. And bored. And dramatic.
I did decide that this year, I will write about all the books I read and all the movies I see, somehow, somewhere. I owe Toby multiple reviews; I have obligations that need discharging. And yet I keep putting them off. Of course it's the Sunday I wake up congested (and, to be fair, slightly hungover) that I start berating myself about these things.
Of course it's the Sunday I wake up with words in my head that are more concrete now. I knew. I know more. Wine-pinked cheeks and the cold street and my fingers slipped through the buttonholes in his lapels, giggling up the stairs, standing forever in the hallway at three in the morning, not quite ready for bed.
A good year, a good weekend, or several. E. was in town and I barely saw her, but she came to the bar the night we were waylaid on the way to a party, a crowd that grew and grew, a text saying "We know you're there! We're coming too!" This weekend, S.'s band played, and MB had an art opening at which we arrived tipsy after a long, semi-ranty dinner with A. Of course there was more wine. There was bonding. The boys - men, really; we're grownups now, right? - talking about shows. Tales of the summer of drama. MB tells S., again, "I like you," or the equivalent. Last time she told me, "I like your boyfriend." She's the sweetest tipsy girl I know, the one in the pretty dress who, late at night at her own Christmas party, says, "I love everyone! I love you ... and you ... and you ..." We talk about hanging out. The intimidation I used to feel around her dissipates. Things slip into place.
We've had brunch with different friends at the same wonderful, mostly empty place every weekend, two blocks from the wonderful and not at all empty place I now share with S. The cat is happier; there are fewer tufts of fur on the floor. I'm happier. I'm so happy. Cocktail club, full of giggles and note-taking and reverse-engineering a delicious drink. The four of us had brunch three days later and managed, for once, not to talk about Doctor Who. S.'s work-friend knows my boss. (Of course he does. Nerdy-book publishing. It's so small.) S.'s friend stayed with us for a few days, his long legs sticking off the end of the sofa, and I made cookies for the first time in a year. The days I don't work, I cook, soups and pastas and risottos, which I've finally sort of figured out.
These are the places the time goes. The occasional hangover, the apartment that needs arranging. The everyday stuff and the things I need to do to get past the everyday stuff.
And then you wake up one morning - on this morning, of all mornings, lacking sleep and complaining about the sniffles, but almost stupid with happiness - and you find a hole in the fabric of your LJ existence.
I didn't know fetishmystique like K. did. Not at all. But he'd become one of my constants here, one of the people on the smallest filters, a person I could trust to provide perspective I never would have thought of, or a brief ass-kicking in a very short comment. There was an argument in comments last month and I'd been meaning to pick up that thread again.
I liked knowing he was there, kissing kittens and holding nothing back.
It's been a good year - so much so that, obviously, I haven't been posting, and this is a thing I want to change, a habit to break: I want to post when I'm happy, too. I thought about that question-a-day meme but I always lose interest. LiveJournal is the one thing I'm still staying far away from when I'm at work, which used to be when I always posted. It's why Diaryland called to me, all those years ago; it was somewhere to vent when I was lonely at work. And bored. And dramatic.
I did decide that this year, I will write about all the books I read and all the movies I see, somehow, somewhere. I owe Toby multiple reviews; I have obligations that need discharging. And yet I keep putting them off. Of course it's the Sunday I wake up congested (and, to be fair, slightly hungover) that I start berating myself about these things.
Of course it's the Sunday I wake up with words in my head that are more concrete now. I knew. I know more. Wine-pinked cheeks and the cold street and my fingers slipped through the buttonholes in his lapels, giggling up the stairs, standing forever in the hallway at three in the morning, not quite ready for bed.
A good year, a good weekend, or several. E. was in town and I barely saw her, but she came to the bar the night we were waylaid on the way to a party, a crowd that grew and grew, a text saying "We know you're there! We're coming too!" This weekend, S.'s band played, and MB had an art opening at which we arrived tipsy after a long, semi-ranty dinner with A. Of course there was more wine. There was bonding. The boys - men, really; we're grownups now, right? - talking about shows. Tales of the summer of drama. MB tells S., again, "I like you," or the equivalent. Last time she told me, "I like your boyfriend." She's the sweetest tipsy girl I know, the one in the pretty dress who, late at night at her own Christmas party, says, "I love everyone! I love you ... and you ... and you ..." We talk about hanging out. The intimidation I used to feel around her dissipates. Things slip into place.
We've had brunch with different friends at the same wonderful, mostly empty place every weekend, two blocks from the wonderful and not at all empty place I now share with S. The cat is happier; there are fewer tufts of fur on the floor. I'm happier. I'm so happy. Cocktail club, full of giggles and note-taking and reverse-engineering a delicious drink. The four of us had brunch three days later and managed, for once, not to talk about Doctor Who. S.'s work-friend knows my boss. (Of course he does. Nerdy-book publishing. It's so small.) S.'s friend stayed with us for a few days, his long legs sticking off the end of the sofa, and I made cookies for the first time in a year. The days I don't work, I cook, soups and pastas and risottos, which I've finally sort of figured out.
These are the places the time goes. The occasional hangover, the apartment that needs arranging. The everyday stuff and the things I need to do to get past the everyday stuff.
And then you wake up one morning - on this morning, of all mornings, lacking sleep and complaining about the sniffles, but almost stupid with happiness - and you find a hole in the fabric of your LJ existence.
I didn't know fetishmystique like K. did. Not at all. But he'd become one of my constants here, one of the people on the smallest filters, a person I could trust to provide perspective I never would have thought of, or a brief ass-kicking in a very short comment. There was an argument in comments last month and I'd been meaning to pick up that thread again.
I liked knowing he was there, kissing kittens and holding nothing back.