You are "Head Over Heels". Stop falling
in love already.


Which Tears For Fears song are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

The Devil's Cup (A History of the World According to Coffee)

Sarah and I took a drive on Saturday evening after a full day of taking in the Whistler/Cassatt exhibit at the Baltimore Museum of Art, and a scrumptuous feast at Ikaros (mousaka, that's all I have to say). We went to Barnes & Noble in Towson, and took in some coffee. I spotted the above-referenced book, and was hooked after the first page. Sarah bought it for me seeing how quickly enamored of the text I was becoming.

It's a departure for me, in that it is a non-fiction work (by an investigative journalist), but the language is so conversational and anecdotal that I find myself lulled right in to the rhythm of Steward Lee Allen's adventures all over the globe sussing out the origins of the mysterious bean, and the darkly intense rituals that happen around it.

It is perfect reading for early evening,when that oddly bright evening light slices the livingroom in half, and I am sipping the last cuppa of the day.

My dreams last night were elipitical, snowy, and achey. I couldn't hear myself, but I'm sure I moaned a lot. All of the images swam before me, and every time I tossed or turned, I found myself in the middle of a new, murky stream-of-consciousness plot.

Yesterday, after my 3-minute conversation with G, I called him back, because I'd thoughtlessly forgot to let him know I was available to help him move stuff, if he needed me to. Because I had just spoken to him, when I called back I only said "Hey, it's me." by way of a greeting. And he said (And I'll never forget this) "Hey, me..." The long and short of it is that he was feeling maxed out on the move effort just then, but that he would call me if he changed his mind and required my services. Then he said he would call either way.

I didn't hear from him again last night, and I am happy to say that didn't cause me too much angst. Well, the dreams, in truth, were probably about him. I seem to recall his face floating in and out of focus.

I had a rough patch in a telephone conversation with Sara Hardesty last night. We got on the topic of marriage proposals, and she asked me how I would want to be proposed to. I said that I really wanted the scenario, whatever it was, to be in keeping with the nature of my relationship. I'm not one for production scenes. Things that are too over the top don't really ring true for me. If I suddenly found myself on a horse and carriage ride, I'd be expecting a ring, and I don't like the prefab nature of that.

I want to be proposed to in the middle of a grocery shopping trip, or one night while we're washing up the dishes after dinner, or while we're just sitting alone in the dark together, our faces only lit up by all the candles in the room.

Sara perceived this answer to be unsatisfactory, because she felt that it was indicative of a failure in me to "dream big dreams for [myself]."

I'm sorry, but I just don't think it's a failure on my part to experience overwhelming emotion, just because I don't want to get a fortune cookie with the message that says "Marry Me" inside it, or be proposed to in the middle of some schmaltzig scene on the beach with a cheesy sunset and a song by Kenny G. playing in the background.

So I think it really annoyed her when I said I'd want my boyfriend cum fiance to call me on his cigarette break when I was having a terrible day at work to ask me if I'd be his wife.

Also, there is something ungenerous about dreaming up your own proposal. That's about the man who's asking you. That's about his creativity and the plans in his heart to fuse his knowledge of you with his own resources, and come up with a moment you'll never forget. I think it's gauche to have anything in mind at all. It's just another way of being a control freak.

Frazzled

This day of my life has been brought to you by Dilbert. I swear I feel like I'm trapped inside a square panel in which everything is garbled, unclear, and disguised as pertinent, but is actually drivel.

well, I don't have it in me to kvetch, anymore... Gordon just called me on his smoke break... just because he wanted to talk to me...

just because...

You are Felicity Shagwell!!!


Which Austin Powers girl are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

What rating is your journal?
brought to you by Quizilla

Growing Pains... Again...

Comments will be back shortly. But, in the meantime, I have some fun links just to the right for you to visit!

I want to be in a book club so badly, but whenever the one at the library is meeting, I am beholden to a previous engagement. I need to start one of my own...

Indigestion

We had pizza and ice cream & cake at Sara's birthday gathering. I went to bed very soon after she dropped me off at home, and I awoke at about 4 a.m. with a mean case of heartburn and visions of whacked out stuff in my head. She enjoyed all of her presents, and endured her mother's thinly-veiled barbs about her state of unemployment with more grace than I think I could have mustered had it been my birthday.

Still working through Wonder When You'll Miss Me, though my reading schedule has been interrupted for birthdays and trips to the cinema, and various and sundry other things, most of which have been pleasant reasons not to get lost in literature, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to time alone tonight to really make a connection with the pages. I read some on my lunch break today, which was pleasant, but I'm not much for reading out of doors. I like to be inside with music playing and dim lighting illuminating the egg-shell white of whatever page I'm on.

On the job front, I think my management skills are coming along. There are some very industrious, witty women in my charge, and they are turning out a good product, so the process of keeping track of them is virtually painless.

In other, trivial news, I have taken to wearing my red shoes without socks.

"...I know I'll never really get inside of you to make your eyes catch fire the way they should/the way the blue could pull me in/if they only would, if they only would..."
the cure

Bruce Almighty

Sarah (note the "h;" I mean my roommate and best friend) and I went to see this movie today. I really enjoyed it, and in fact cried near the end. I don't think it's a universally tear jerking experience, but with the place I'm in, the motifs of surrender and selflessness looked at through a comedic lens resonated quite deeply.

I managed to buy the other Sara (sans "h") in my life birthday presents today (her 29th is Tuesday). I hope she likes them. I have something of a knack for picking good presents, I'm told. I think picking winners is easy. You just pay attention to the people you love, and then extrapolate.

I went to the library today and checked out several books, including one by Amanda Davis I've been wanting to get for several weeks (Wonder When You'll Miss Me), and The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. I had intended to spend the entire day there reading after gathering up my treasures, but I started feeling cagey, so I left. I read for a while (the briefest while) in the park on Charles Street, but felt that a potential miscreant was checking me out, if you know what I mean, so I came home after being out for only a total of two hours.

I ended up going out with Sara tonight. She had purchased a couple of coffee table books for me--an historic pictorial on antiquated locomotives and one about Paris. As usual we had a wonderfully encouraging conversation and a settling, anchoring prayer time. I love the immediacy with which she is willing to enter into prayer. Her life is a running dialogue with God, and I feel inspired when I'm around her.

I made the decision to renew my lease for 6 months. It's coming up due on the 30th of this month. I've been back here a few days shy of a year.

I'm looking forward to resuming therapy; the 2-month hiatus has caused a lot of what plagues me to surge to the forefront, and I am ready to talk again.

I had a realization today. I don't want the concept I have of myself as an angry person to follow me into the next year of my life. I don't know who I am apart from it, but I want to find out.

Resolution, to Some Extent...

I found out from Gordon today that he will be moving into the house of a more fringe member of our common society. This guy happens to live in Fells Point, where my job is located, incidentally, and therefore not far from my house. It was between this option and a slightly more far away one in Towson.

Gordon also told me that he liked the pictures (I sent him jpg files yesterday) of him and me. They have actually grown on me significantly since I first wrote about them--they snuck up on me, in a way. The subtext of the story, the less obvious elements surged to the forefront, and now I think they are quite nice.

Tepid Coffee Dregs On the Waterfront...

I took the last few barely drinkable drops of the coffee I'd been nursing since roughly 9 a.m. outside a few moments ago. I also took my Bible and read a few chapters in Paul's short epistle to the Philippians. I was struck by the verse that says "Whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ." "Whatever happens" is the first line of a Galway Kinnel poem called, simply, "Prayer."

I have lost the ability to say, and mean "whatever happens." I no longer feel, categorically, that "whatever happens," I can press forward. I have lost the singularity of vision needed to commit to anything outside of myself. It should not be the case that my youth was characterized by the desire to serve, and by involvement in the Church, whereas my later life... my growing up time is consumed with fretting and cocktails.

It is hard to obsess needlessly over piddly stuff when you are caught up in a revolution. Like Charlie Brown, I need involvement to get me out of my rut of morbid self-absorption.

Tea With Alberta II

This time she came down to my place. I was glad to play hostess, have her meet and chat with Sarah. This new friendship is a throwback to a friendlier time. The era of neighborly visits.

I saw Peter Farrow Yesterday in WholeFoods. He left my company about a month ago. I referred to him as PF initially. We were in the process of developing a nice work rapport which I could see carrying over into social stuff when he found gainful employment elsewhere. He, in a couple of months, is moving into my neighborhood (his fiancee is going away for grad school). I had actually seen him around my office a couple of times over the course of the last few weeks, visiting with friends of his, but he did not really acknowledge me during those visits. I wasn't hurt or anything, but I thought it odd since he'd made a point to get my business card, complete with a personal e-mail address before he left, that he did no more than barely wave at me on those occasions.

Yesterday when I was making a fruit&cheese danish run, he chatted me up about his new work, my work here, and various other surface level things.

The moment struck me as being somewhat literary. He's a minor character that could have way more to do with the plot than one might initially think.

Perfectionism, Thy Name is Kate!

My boss referred to me as a perfectionist today. I think it was his gentle way of saying I can become highstrung when things aren't well in hand. The exchange was not a bad one. On the contrary, I was demonstrating what I consider to be a baseline degree of integrity over my post. My boss's position? There is a level of chaos that must be tolerated. He knows all about it, and blah, blah, blah...

I don't really have much more to say at the moment. I think I'm going to make a cup of tea and start winding down for bed.

Oh, here's some news. My youngest sister got a role in the "Pan" show for which she auditioned a few weeks ago. She doesn't know which one, though. Obviously, she's hoping for Wendy or Tinkerbell. Apparently, this is a hip-hop version of the classic tale. Not sure how I feel about that.

You are Catherine of Aragon, Henry's 1st wife! You
are from Spain and are quite a Jesus freak, but
you have a pissy life. Poor you.


Which of the the 6 wives of Henry VIII are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Photos II

I hung out with Sara last night up at her dad's house in the suburbs. She wants to rearrange her bedroom and needs help with the transfer of some pieces of furniture to another space, so I went in to help her complete the first leg of that process.Of course it wasn't all work and no play. We ate dinner (and two kinds of dessert) and chatted a good bit.

I will always be grateful to her for her enthusiastic response to the pictures of me and Gordon, one of which I let her have a copy (always get doubles). She was delighted by them, and felt that she could intuit just how right we are for each other (she has never seen us together in real life, and before a week ago, there was no photo ever taken of us together). She laughed such a joyous laugh and gave me such a warm hug when I gave her the picture, as though she had just been given something priceless.

Today is the first day that Sarahbina joins me at work, for the time being, as a temporary proofreader. My company needs some summertime support to really get the project off the ground in time for the school year, and encouraged everyone to aid in the recruiting effort. I was glad they responded so enthusiastically to her resume and decided to bring her on board.

Something else that's been on my mind:

I am trying to create room in my life for a change. As I approach 30 I find that I feel an increasing need for greater independence, to realize my goals, and to want to be free of my obligations to other people. I really want to define my own life, independent of anyone else's expectations of my time.

The photos, which are black & white, are okay. The best one in the stack, spanning the week between my sister's highschool graduation and the last time Gordon came over for dinner, is of me and Michael (formerly known here as Mikhail). I framed it. Sarah also framed one of a few other shots she took of him. He photographs very well. I also framed one of me and Gordon, but it wasn't the obvious shot where we are both looking into the lens and smiling, perfectly centered.

I framed the one where I am looking in the direction of the camera, but not smiling. I look exhausted, but there is an evenness to my face that matches my concept of how I look and feel about myself, generally--and I seem peaceful; I remember that I felt content at the moment the photo was taken. Gordon is looking at me, and there is a tenderness, not so much in his look, as in his posture. I remember that we were talking then (it was a candid photo), but I don't remember about what.


The other photos of us are not terrible, but neither are they representative, truly, of the best in either of us. I had been worried about being photographed with him because I feared that something palpable, but unnamable, would become obvious to me, to him, to anyone who saw them... something that said "these two people will not work." And frankly, for purely aesthetic reasons, I wasn't sure we looked "right" together. You know those couples who look like they should be together? The ones that make sense, immediately, when you see them side by side? Or, better yet, the people who are not a couple, but who seem that they should be because something about them "fits?"

After intellect, art, and God, Gordon and I don't make an obviously logical pair. He is long and lean, I am short and decidedly round. The milk white of his skin and the coffee w/ a touch of cream brown of mine don't offset each other...they just look different. The ease with which he walks around, rides his bike, goofs off, etc., doesn't quite mesh with the ponderous way I take steps, the reserved nature of all my movements, the utter clumsiness that often overtakes me when doing anything that requires the slightest bit of coordination or grace...

I had a hair appointment yesterday, afterwhich I hung out for about an hour with Sarah and Michael at Michael's apartment, which is right next to my salon of choice. Then, I came back home to change and head out to see the film "Man on the Train," a soft, thoughtful french film about what happens when a poet and a bankrobber cross paths. Philosophical, but not cumbersome. I saw it alone, which was pleasant. Going to the cinema is one thing I can do alone quite easily, because it's such an outward focused thing. The one or two times I've eaten alone in a restaurant, I felt that something about it was counterintuitive, and I felt too awkward to enjoy my food.

Sarah and I are headed to Richmond for the day--to surprise her dad for Father's day. I have no father that I acknowledge, so I am free to accompany her...

"I have proved to live a dastardly day..."

Even though the solstice is a week away, today felt like the true beginning of the season. It was officially hot with scattered thunderstorms and fat, splatty rain. I love the schizophrenic nature of this weather--the mania of sunshine offset by the abysmal low of a tombstone grey sky torn and pouring.

I'll be honest. Today sucked for me. Work was fine, but the weather in my internal landscape was as nasty as it was outside the window this evening.

On an upnote I am looking forward to seeing my photos. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that at least one of me and Gordon came out well.

Tea With Alberta

Alberta rides the bus with me, both in the morning and in the evening, and she lives on the 4th floor of my building. After several conversations on public transportation, I've started visting her at her place. She made me a delicious, fruity green tea (though she warned me that it kept her up last night until very late), and we talked while listening to India.Arie's debut album (which switched to a classy Cassandra Wilson collection).

We talked about trusting God, going with the flow, and lying in the bed of your own making without belly-aching.

It's nice to have a neighbor to visit, someone with whom to share wisdom over steaming mugs.

You are Proverbs.


Which book of the Bible are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Lady Grey, My Bathrobe, and 25 Minutes to 10...

It's like a meatlocker in this place! It helps Sarah's asthma to keep the place extremely cool, and if we were having hot weather, it would probably feel more pleasant in here--but as it is, I am so very cold. I put the kettle on for tea a few minutes ago so I could warm up from the inside out.

I learned at work today that I will not just be managing the work of the people we are hiring to format curriculum, but will be managing them. A subtle but important distinction. Ms. Krupnik is coming into her own more and more, it would seem. My boss keeps telling me I'm doing well, and I'd be lying if I said that doesn't feel good. I really am starting to feel like a grownup.

I'm getting sleepy. I think I'll get ready for bed.

I went back to the Methodist church I started attending last Fall after about a 5-month hiatus. I lost my steam after being ill for about 8 weeks (off and on) last Winter. I started feeling the need for corporate worship again, in that setting, on Saturday evening. Maybe because I felt utterly cast adrift, and needed to feel the blanket of singing warm around me.

I'm going out with Sara tonight... not my roommate, but the person I've been calling Sassafrass Teawrap all this time. She's recently been in a wedding that she was very anxious about for various reasons. And we've not talked since the middle of last week, so we have some real catching up to do.

Leftovers

'Bina and I ordered Chinese carryout last night for dinner. I felt so inexplicably sad I couldn't stop crying. I felt alone, and that I was always going to be alone. And I wasn't forgetting my women friends who flank me on all sides. There's another kind of alone. And only a lover can touch that place. Or God. I felt like I did when I was a kid and I first understood that my parents couldn't do anything for me--that I would always need a backup plan for when the bottom dropped out.

I had talked to my youngest sister when I got home from the museum, and I shared with her why I was uneasy. I tried to paint the picture of having had a good time, for the most part, but I had a sour taste in my mouth, and so that is the impression that came through the clearest. We weren't able to finish our conversation because she got interrupted... Later, though, she called me and left a voicemail message telling me not to be discouraged because she felt that these incidents were designed, in part, to help me have perspective. She emphasized that he was with me yesterday, not those other people, because he was not supposed to be there with any of them...
And she said that he's not ready now, but that when he is, I'll be the one standing in front of him, the person he should have seen all the time.

I can't say enough how much I needed that.

And I realized that there are all sorts of things, important things that I, in my myopia, left out about yesterday.

There was the moment Gordon asked me if I had ever been to Paris, and when I said no, he just looked at me and said "Oh, you have to go someday..."

There was the novel I told him I want to read, simply entitled Gordon by Edith Templeton (?). He said that maybe he'd have to get that for me, and then he quipped "Gordon from Gordon..."

Then there was the way he talked to me about paintings that mean a lot to him, and quoted scenes from Woody Allen movies, and smiled at me sympathetically when my umbrella malfunctioned.

Or maybe I should also mention that he told me how much he hurts when his friends abandon him, how much he ached when he felt a particularly dear friend distance himself, and how now he has learned to stop wanting that person to be in his life.

Would it help if I said that I find it so charming that he and I both wear sweaters, and other decidedly wintery clothes, in June? Or that I kept wanting to brush a couple of wayward hairs behind his ears, or that we had a running dialogue about careers he should pursue? A birthday party clown, a record producer, a tour guide, and mayor of a small town are what we've come up with so far.

The latter is because he told me all about his campaign and dramatic election as Student Body President his senior year of Highschool. He got the students vending machines and hot lunches to name two things he delivered. They called him King President, at least according to him.

I told him that I was the manager of the Tennis team and the Editor-N-Chief of the literary magazine. It was like peering through a glass at the past at who we used to be. I wished on some level that he'd known me then, and that I'd known him, but then I was glad that we didn't. Knowing how much pain we both had ahead of us when we were 17, I'm glad we didn't. I know I met him when I was supposed to.

I've been back from my outing with Gordon for about a half hour. I ate something soon after darkening my doorstep--the first thing I'd eaten all day if you don't count half of an O'Henry bar and several altoids--now I feel better able to talk about my soggy adventure.

We drove in torrential rain from Baltimore to Washington. From time to time he would ask me my advice on how to get to the area near the National Gallery. Being a non-driver, and completely disinterested in D.C., I really didn't know. I finally had to tell him that I have no sense of direction, and that asking me to consult with him about best routes is actually pointless. This was good natured...not tense or anything, and I certainly wasn't upset with him, but after a while I started to feel like a nimrod.

We stopped in Columbia on the way down because he needed gas. He didn't have any candy or mints so he bought me the aforementioned candy bar and altoids. I thought it was sweet, so he scored points. I am actually moneyless and I expected our day together to cost nothing. Once again, given our official status as friends, the money thing is pretty much defined by the 'every man for himself' code.

But the rainy, soggy sky did not let up so he paid for us to take a cab from the place we parked to the museum (which was farther away than either of us thought, incidentally). Once inside he rubbed my jeans to see how wet i'd gotten... it wasn't suggestive, though it felt nice. The sleeve of his sweater was equally soaked. There we were, two drowned rats, ready to go and take in an art show.

Our stay at the museum spanned at least two-and-a-half hours. We saw several exhibits, and he ate lunch... I didn't have any money, so I ate nothing. At that moment I wasn't feeling the need in an overwhelming way. I was more concerned with my ambient headache (the rain being the culprit, in all likelihood). He kept asking me if I was sure I wasn't hungry. I assured him I wasn't. We entertained ourselved by listening to the conversation of the people sitting behind us.

He carried both our umbrellas while we checked out the giftshop. We looked through several books together...him pointing out various and sundry things to me. In moments like that I tend to get so reticent, so small, and unsure of myself. I am always concerned that he thinks I'm bored with him or something... I just don't feel that I have anything intelligent to say, that it's better to just listen.

So, on our way back to the car, which I've already mentioned parenthetically was really far away, we decided to stop at Starbucks to get out of the deluge. He bought the two of us coffee, so we sat there staring out at the rainy sky, and I felt his mood lowering. We talked about his band, how it came together. He met the guy with whom he started it through a girl he went out with once or twice back in September or October. I remember how I felt about him then, just a few months ago. I was some degree of in love with him, as I am now.

Before that news would have rendered me incapable of going on with the day, and while I registered it and it pricked me enough, I also didn't spin too far from the moment. Then when we finally decided to brave the elements again, the wind picked up, and my umbrella kept turning inside out, so I had to give up on it. I felt like a walking comedy of errors--my shoes soaked, my hair wet, and I was moneyless on a non-date with the man of my heart.

His umbrella, which was holding up nicely, apparently has sentimental value. He bought it in some village in Germany, the name of which I can't remember. He took the opportunity to tell me that years later he fell in love with some girl from that same village, but she didn't like him, "so, of course it didn't go anywhere."

I wanted to ask "what girl was this?" but decided against it. I thought the information might hurt me, and I want to stay in my decidedly take-it-in-stride phase.

I actually feel more hurt now than I did at that moment.

Our ride back was pleasant but mostly silent, and I felt like the least compelling woman on the planet.

A Tendency Toward Hunkering

Of all the small bits of information Gordon and I learned about each other last night, the piece that pleased me most is that we sleep the same way. Ever since I was a child I have loved to burrow deeply in my covers or in corners or in crevices. I loved creating the illusion of not really being there, or of being shrouded, and thereby blocking out (others, from light, etc.) everything that is not me.

Gordon explained his very detailed method of creating warmth inside the covers by completely covering himself, but leaving a tiny space for air at the top corner or his sheets, or if it's warmer weather, how he only leaves himself a little hole (covers wrapped around him) to breathe through. I think it may be more of a practical thing for him, less pathological, but the end result is the same.

I felt like an idiot, but I kept yelling "I sleep just like that!" "That's what I do exactly!"

I can't wait to hunker down together. I never thought of what it would be like to have another body in that space, hiding from everybody but him.

One Good Thing Leads to Another...

I had a great time with Gordon and Sarah last night. He came over about an hour later than we were expecting him (he did call), and I was trying really hard to be peeved, but when I opened the door and saw his face smiling at me, his arms alreadying opening to hold me, I couldn't sustain even the fake anger I'd been working on for the previous 40 minutes.

The backdrop was Chopin's Nocturnes, which Sarah suggested, remembering on some level that I shared with her how much Gordon loves those. At one point we were talking, and he politely shushed us while his favourite moment in one of the pieces swelled through the dining area. He told us that he used to listen to this particular nocturne when he was staying with his parents--in the morning--while the mist rose off the grass in the field behind their house--and cry. I couldn't help myself. I said to him that is so sweet.

He wouldn't let me take his plate when he was done eating; he wanted to clear it himself. He refreshed Sarah's drink, got her more ice, so obviously at home with me and my friend. I got up and made us coffee without asking. I knew (and it was a safe bet anyway) that he was about due for some. Fortunately for him, he takes his black. We were out of half and half, so I had to make due with 1% milk, which I complained about (because anything less than whole milk turns coffee grey, not that beautiful creamy tan colour I love). He tried to console me by saying it didn't look so grey...

At one point when we were actually eating our pizza I'd gotten an herb on my lip, and Sarah tried to point out to me how to remove it, but I was proving to be quite daft, and needed to actually get up and look in the mirror to see exactly what they were both talking about. And he said something small, but that reached me... He said it was as small as one of my freckles....

The evening continued with us looking out on the midnight blue sky with swirls of white clouds, police cars and idiots whizzing below on Calvert street. We sat together on the couch and 'Bina took photos of us, one in which I playfully toussled his hair. At one point Sarah's mom called and she disappeared for the rest of the night, so we just continued sitting close enough to kiss, but not...

As it turns out I am going with him to a show at the National Gallery in Washington, DC tomorrow, after we check out the yard sale my apartment building is having. He told me he was going to this show yesterday when I first let him know about the flea market (he's very into going to those now), but I assumed he was happy to go alone, and even if he offered me an invitation, I knew I didn't have any money... I also didn't want to fall into the trap of expecting him to invite me to everything he does, or is part of...

He invited both Sarah and me. She declined, but since the show is free, I did not. Another friend of his, a guy, may also be coming... but somehow he doesn't think that will happen. Neither do I. This is our time now to explore each other, and hopefully to fall in love.

Today I saw something truly horrifying:

A photo of a man at the beach in a lime green body thong. His girlfriend smiling happily beside him (in a tasteful bikini). How did this happen?

Pacing

I have debated getting another counselor while I've been on hiatus from seeing my doctor. Our processing has not been aggressive enough for what I need, ultimately, but I think I am going to try to talk to her about stepping it up. I really do like her. I also don't have the energy to find someone else close to where I live who shares my beliefs. I'll give it some more time. I've laid a good amount of groundwork with her, and I don't want to lose the months of effort it took to get this started.

I've been anxious for the last couple of days about my relationship with Gordon. Anxiety and fear undermine love and loving action, so I've been trying trying to banish them to the nether regions. I'm continuing to process internally, as proactively as I can, sans counseling. I'm trying to act on my own behalf.

Here's one thing I've done that is small, but the implications of which are significant, as any friend of mine who reads this blog can attest.

I deleted the three e-mails in the trail from 2 years ago in which I asked Gordon out, he summarily declined my offer with the standard "let's be friends" proviso, and my emotionless reply that I saw absolutely no problem with that.

I felt compelled yesterday to go into my archives and look at those e-mails again. I do this from time to time, usually out of a masochistic need to confirm that I am worthless and stupid, but this time my motivation was devoid of such perversion. Normally, when I read these missives, I feel the soul-crushing, paralyzing shame of having asked the question I did. And in those moments, I cannot distinguish my reaction from the actual day it all happened. I just end up being right back there.

But yesterday, when I read them, I felt that I could take what he said at face value, and it did not make me want to hide or cry to see his refusal staring at me from the monitor. In fact, I felt that those e-mails were so far removed from who we are now, and that our present connection, our evolved relationship so overshadowed those quick messages, that they seemed to not even belong to our experience (though they do. In a way, they are responsible for our present closeness).

I saw that holding on to them had been my way of defining myself as a loser, because that comforted me, and ironically, of keeping Gordon at arm's length, which also, perversely, comforted me. I let them be the sum total and final word on who we were to be to each other for so long, even though the definition they offered has had no bearing on his feelings for me for the longest time. It would have been unthinkable for me to have erased them before.

Yesterday it became unthinkable to keep them.

I went outside to pray by the water, as is my custom these days, at about 3 o'clock. There was a man sitting a few benches down from me who was also praying, I knew in my heart by the reverent, still way he was sitting, so focused.

I tend to like to talk out loud to God, even outside the privacy of my own home. If no one is around, or at a great distance, I do--but the waterfront was crowded today, so our conversation was mostly unspoken-- but a few times I whispered to Him the things that are in my heart. These moments anchor me, as do my morning meditations on scripture.

I have been trying to temper telling God what I desire with practicing the simple joy of being in His presence. Open heart, not just an open hand. I can't make demands. This is part of the openness I'm learning to practice in my relationships, too.

I have always been a big believer in advancing the plot of my life. I want things to happen. I want decisions to be made. But I don't know how to sit still, just hanging out there, eliptical-like, trusting something to come.

I never learned, before now, to just be in a moment.

This is how epiphanies arrive, how kisses are dragged from a soul, how you hear the answer to the question you forgot you asked.

You are a Rubber Band.


What Fruity Object Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Wedding In The Round

Victoria and Michael were married at the Carmelite Monastery, a convent about 25 minutes north of where I live in the city. The chapel is a round room with an enitre wall of windows, so it gives the feeling of being outside in the lush garden the nuns have tended. It was raining, off and on, at the time of their ceremony, but the room was cozy and quaint. It was intimate, sitting that way, being able to read everyone's facial expressions, and thereby, to some extent, read their thoughts.

During the exchange of vows, when Victoria said michael's whole name, I got a bit weepy. I had a memory of two and a half years earlier... I was visiting her for the weekend, and going to my first evensong service with Gordon (I did not live in Baltimore at the time). She had just met michael, and while definitely not carried away, knew she already liked him very much. In a fit of girlish fantasy indulgence, I encouraged her to write her first name beside his last name in her journal, just to see how it would sound.

That didn't seem risky to me, even then. I believed in my heart he was right for her, and I'd not yet met him.

As I mentioned he would several months ago, Gordon played the prelude music, and sang, with someone else, the "Wedding Song," to which the bridal party proceded.
When he got to the line "Woman draws her life from man and gives it back again," I looked over at him holding his guitar so earnestly, his head bowed a bit.

And then later in the ceremony, during the homily, I turned behind me, and found him already staring in my direction. Our eyes locked at a particularly poignant moment. It is always hard to know how intentional things like that are, or who starts them... I already knew he loved my hair, because he told me so when I talked with him before the wedding started.... maybe he was just looking at that... or looking past me, but it didn't seem to be the case.

Sarah and I left for the reception almost immediately after the recessional, and got to the Long Green Gardens just in time to beat the deluge.

When Gordon came in to the reception hall, he made his way over to where we were sitting, and I told him how much I enjoyed the music he played, and then, I took his hand in mine, and squeezed it for emphasis. I felt him there with me in that gesture. He asked if the singing had been okay, and I told him that it was very pleasant, and involunatrily placed my hand over my heart when I said again, that I really enjoyed it.

He was on videographer duty (along with two others) at the reception, so even though we were not sitting at the same table, It was negligible. I wouldn't have seen or interacted with him anymore, had we been. He made it a point to come "visit" a lot, and we stared at each other very intensely a lot, and at one point when he was taking still shots with his own camera, across the room from me, he found me across a sea of tables, and aimed the lens in my direction, and snapped.

No one noticed that (of course I told 'Bina about it later), so it was like our "across a croweded room" moment. Just me, dead center, in his view finder.

None of the things I worried about happened. So, even though it was early, Sarah and I left to make it home so she could keep her evening plans--and just so we could beat the rain, if it decided to come back. I felt satisfied that I was leaving the situation on good terms. I'm the one who said I was ready to leave first... I didn't want to fall into the trap of lingering just to see how much more might happen between him and me. As I've said before, another person's wedding is not the time for pushing your own agenda.

I went over and told him I was leaving.

"You're leaving?" he repeated
"I'm over it..." I joked
He gave me a quizzical look.
"No, I'm just kidding. I'm very tired."
Hugging me, he said
"Well, It's nice to see you... I guess I'll see you next week..."
"Yes. Thursday."
I'm not sure why, but I stood there for half a beat more... and he said again
"it was nice to see you."

For the first time in years, I finally feel secure that there will be a next time. The day before he asked me if I needed a ride to the wedding. I didn't regret not needing to take him up on that. Because I don't think that every opportunity is my last anymore. I always know I will see him again, because I believe he wants to see me again.