I left my heart in your bedroom; part i
Weekend is over. Just came home from dropping Hope off at the airport.
It was a really good weekend. Lots of laughter, lots of smiling and talking and people, classes and ritual. There were some hard things to feel through, and some really terrible things to watch being done to her, along with the same handful of other people watching it again. There was a lot of true deep leisure. Sunshine and fruit and freedom.
No need to rush, no plans to make, the ability to laze in the sun, in the water, in a bed, in a temple, to talk about classes, about real life, or just to lean against each other and not talk at all. To introduce her to so many of the people I've talked about for years. We didn't have any seriously bad times or space or issues between us, the whole weekend.
Which is hard to decide if that was a miraculous godsend or another reason to feel heartbroken now. Five million people stopped us to tell us how cute we were or checking in on how we were doing with the myriad of things at our fingers tips. There was some crying in it, of course. And try as I might, I ended up not managing to keep myself from seriously crying ---
After I fell down pretty much the whole of the staircase going up to my apartment. I'm not even kidding. She got spend her last twenty minutes of her trip patching me up, with hydrogen peroxide and Neosporin, while I stared at my knees, with tears streaming, silently, down my face the whole time.
So in short, I'm a little bit of mess.
Emotionally, as well as physically.
I'll have my trauma ICU nurse Earl look at me when he gets home (very shortly), and I promised her I'd still go to the Pride Burlesque tonight. I hurt, but not as much as like two weeks ago. At least right now. But I'll try to write more about the (truly, deeply, amazing) weekend festival once my elbow is more cooperative.
It was a really good weekend. Lots of laughter, lots of smiling and talking and people, classes and ritual. There were some hard things to feel through, and some really terrible things to watch being done to her, along with the same handful of other people watching it again. There was a lot of true deep leisure. Sunshine and fruit and freedom.
No need to rush, no plans to make, the ability to laze in the sun, in the water, in a bed, in a temple, to talk about classes, about real life, or just to lean against each other and not talk at all. To introduce her to so many of the people I've talked about for years. We didn't have any seriously bad times or space or issues between us, the whole weekend.
Which is hard to decide if that was a miraculous godsend or another reason to feel heartbroken now. Five million people stopped us to tell us how cute we were or checking in on how we were doing with the myriad of things at our fingers tips. There was some crying in it, of course. And try as I might, I ended up not managing to keep myself from seriously crying ---
After I fell down pretty much the whole of the staircase going up to my apartment. I'm not even kidding. She got spend her last twenty minutes of her trip patching me up, with hydrogen peroxide and Neosporin, while I stared at my knees, with tears streaming, silently, down my face the whole time.
So in short, I'm a little bit of mess.
Emotionally, as well as physically.
I'll have my trauma ICU nurse Earl look at me when he gets home (very shortly), and I promised her I'd still go to the Pride Burlesque tonight. I hurt, but not as much as like two weeks ago. At least right now. But I'll try to write more about the (truly, deeply, amazing) weekend festival once my elbow is more cooperative.