Monday, May 12, 2008
getting one's priorities straight
There is cake in my office today. Thus, though it is a monday, (and Mondays suck by definition) there's CAKE!
Good day, people.
Good day, people.
Friday, May 09, 2008
drained
I have been afraid to hope that maybe he would want what I want.
But I was wrong. We talked on the phone for a couple of hours on Wednesday night. He told me that he sees the potential for us to be together longterm. And that, the longer we date, the stronger he sees that potential becoming.
I wasn't sure what that meant. Does that mean dating for the next 5 years, with no hurry towards living together? Truthfully, I could be happy with that. He is not the sort of guy who seems to be in a hurry, ever. And, sharing a house with someone else, that adds an entirely new dimension of complicatedness, with the kids and mortgages and financial issues, and everything else.
I'd had a couple of drinks and a very emotional conversation with my good friend Errika that evening in Birmingham. So, my inhibitions lowered and my emotions a little naked, I told him that in an ideal world, I would like to find that one person that I can grow old with, the person I will be with until I die. I want the grown-up fairy tale. I want someone to cherish forever, to be with in sickness and in health, through better and worse, richer or poorer. I want it all.
I was surprised when after baring my soul, he told me that marriage is probably more important to him than it is to me. He has a greater sense of urgency about it. He's 40, and ten years ago, he thought he'd be married, with kids and the white picket fence. But, that hasn't happened, mainly because he let the opportunities he had pass him by. I'm not in any hurry, but he is ready to settle down and build a life with someone.
He isn't willing to do live passively, letting life pass him by, anymore. He wants to get married. He wants the fairytale, too.
And, he thinks he might want it with me.
(but only time will tell)
I laid on the bed on Wednesday night shivering and unable to sleep after that phone conversation. It felt so good to hear that he thinks about me the same way I think about him. And, it is kind of terrifying, too.
I've given up on some of my dreams. Even with him, I've been willing to believe that he is so introverted that he would always need a lot of space, maybe even his own place, for years. And, I was willing to accept that because marriage, sharing a house, commitment comes with its own perils.
But, the most terrifying part of that conversation wasn't that he is actually headed in a more serious direction than I am, perhaps faster than I am. It was that for a second there, I sensed something new inside of me.
Hope. Hope, who is a complete and utter bastard, really. Every single time he's shown up, he's caused me greater hurt than anyone else in my life. I want the grown up fairy tale, but I'm so afraid to hope for it. I can live with wanting and not getting. I'm not sure I can bear to let hope in again, only to be disappointed, again.
But still, hope is here. And, it is draining, and exhilerating, and amazing. I'm just trying to ignore him, the silent and terrifying elephant in the corner of the room.
But I was wrong. We talked on the phone for a couple of hours on Wednesday night. He told me that he sees the potential for us to be together longterm. And that, the longer we date, the stronger he sees that potential becoming.
I wasn't sure what that meant. Does that mean dating for the next 5 years, with no hurry towards living together? Truthfully, I could be happy with that. He is not the sort of guy who seems to be in a hurry, ever. And, sharing a house with someone else, that adds an entirely new dimension of complicatedness, with the kids and mortgages and financial issues, and everything else.
I'd had a couple of drinks and a very emotional conversation with my good friend Errika that evening in Birmingham. So, my inhibitions lowered and my emotions a little naked, I told him that in an ideal world, I would like to find that one person that I can grow old with, the person I will be with until I die. I want the grown-up fairy tale. I want someone to cherish forever, to be with in sickness and in health, through better and worse, richer or poorer. I want it all.
I was surprised when after baring my soul, he told me that marriage is probably more important to him than it is to me. He has a greater sense of urgency about it. He's 40, and ten years ago, he thought he'd be married, with kids and the white picket fence. But, that hasn't happened, mainly because he let the opportunities he had pass him by. I'm not in any hurry, but he is ready to settle down and build a life with someone.
He isn't willing to do live passively, letting life pass him by, anymore. He wants to get married. He wants the fairytale, too.
And, he thinks he might want it with me.
(but only time will tell)
I laid on the bed on Wednesday night shivering and unable to sleep after that phone conversation. It felt so good to hear that he thinks about me the same way I think about him. And, it is kind of terrifying, too.
I've given up on some of my dreams. Even with him, I've been willing to believe that he is so introverted that he would always need a lot of space, maybe even his own place, for years. And, I was willing to accept that because marriage, sharing a house, commitment comes with its own perils.
But, the most terrifying part of that conversation wasn't that he is actually headed in a more serious direction than I am, perhaps faster than I am. It was that for a second there, I sensed something new inside of me.
Hope. Hope, who is a complete and utter bastard, really. Every single time he's shown up, he's caused me greater hurt than anyone else in my life. I want the grown up fairy tale, but I'm so afraid to hope for it. I can live with wanting and not getting. I'm not sure I can bear to let hope in again, only to be disappointed, again.
But still, hope is here. And, it is draining, and exhilerating, and amazing. I'm just trying to ignore him, the silent and terrifying elephant in the corner of the room.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Early
Alexander Hamilton drove all night on Friday and got home around 1 a.m. on Saturday morning.
The kids both had plans on Saturday, so we got to see each other.
The best part was walking through his front door and having him hold me a long, long time.
The kids both had plans on Saturday, so we got to see each other.
The best part was walking through his front door and having him hold me a long, long time.
Friday, May 02, 2008
5:30 a.m. is truth time
5:30 a.m. is when my brain seems, with regularity, to finish processing, and spit out truth that wakes me up in the pre-dawn dark, disturbed and unable to sleep.
5:30 a.m. is when I write three lines into an e-mail and send it off into the ether. An e-mail written at 5:30 a.m. is truthful. It's the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. My brain is too tired to gloss over the real sentiments with words that would dull their edges.
5:30 a.m. is when I realize I have standards, and that I want to know where I stand, even if that means standing alone. 5:30 a.m. is when I can say without fear, "If it's just sex, tell me. I can handle the truth, and I'd rather know it." 5:30 a.m. is when I am not prone to make any more excuses for what is simple rudeness.
At 7:30 a.m., I may regret my hasty words, and wish I hadn't sent that e-mail. But, at 5:30 a.m., life and my anger seem as clear as the sharp-edged shard of a broken bottle of yuengling on the floor of my garage.
At 8:30 a.m., I got an answer, the one I hoped for, but wasn't sure of.
5:30 a.m. is when I write three lines into an e-mail and send it off into the ether. An e-mail written at 5:30 a.m. is truthful. It's the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. My brain is too tired to gloss over the real sentiments with words that would dull their edges.
5:30 a.m. is when I realize I have standards, and that I want to know where I stand, even if that means standing alone. 5:30 a.m. is when I can say without fear, "If it's just sex, tell me. I can handle the truth, and I'd rather know it." 5:30 a.m. is when I am not prone to make any more excuses for what is simple rudeness.
At 7:30 a.m., I may regret my hasty words, and wish I hadn't sent that e-mail. But, at 5:30 a.m., life and my anger seem as clear as the sharp-edged shard of a broken bottle of yuengling on the floor of my garage.
At 8:30 a.m., I got an answer, the one I hoped for, but wasn't sure of.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
I Had Phone Sex With a Dead Guy
Can I just say that I love the title above more than anything so far today?
Have you ever wondered what Former Nuke looks like? Well, wonder no more. He looks like Alexander Hamilton. With less hair, of course. And a slightly smaller, but still extremely straight and bony nose. Same eyes, same chin, same lips. Same militaristic bearing.
He's seriously hot enough to be on a bill of his very own. Preferably, naked.
I decided yesterday that "Former Nuke" really doesn't have the je ne sais quoi that a nickname for my hotty boyfriend should have. It was fine to describe him when he was just one of the pack of fellas I was going on casual dates with, but he's definitely a keeper.
So, I'm giving him a new name. From here on out, I'm calling him Alexander. And no, it isn't at all creepy that I had smutty phone sex Monday night with a dead treasurer, while clutching a sweaty 10-dollar bill in just one hand.
For me, at least.
Have you ever wondered what Former Nuke looks like? Well, wonder no more. He looks like Alexander Hamilton. With less hair, of course. And a slightly smaller, but still extremely straight and bony nose. Same eyes, same chin, same lips. Same militaristic bearing.
He's seriously hot enough to be on a bill of his very own. Preferably, naked.
I decided yesterday that "Former Nuke" really doesn't have the je ne sais quoi that a nickname for my hotty boyfriend should have. It was fine to describe him when he was just one of the pack of fellas I was going on casual dates with, but he's definitely a keeper.
So, I'm giving him a new name. From here on out, I'm calling him Alexander. And no, it isn't at all creepy that I had smutty phone sex Monday night with a dead treasurer, while clutching a sweaty 10-dollar bill in just one hand.
For me, at least.
