A post in which I am acting stupid, but really kind of enjoying it

I went in to work today with a big possum-in-the-garbage grin on my face. It’s crazy. I know it. But I can’t help it. I’m happy. I’m listening to Barry White and Etta James in the car and feeling like they are singing for me.

I may be an idiot, and I may be setting myself up to get my emotional knees scarred, but there are rooms being aired out in my heart that haven’t seen any fresh air in quite some time. It feels good. It feels like a good long stretch in the sun after being cramped up for a long while. It feels healthy.

We keep texting. I was thinking today about those nature specials where birds repeatedly call to each other to reinforce their bond; repeatedly singing, nodding and posturing to each other to reassure each other that they are a pair. I know that sounds strange, but I just feel the need to hear from him during the day to know that he’s still there. He’s still real. And amazingly, he’s really in my life. I’m acting like a lovesick teenager. At 41 yet.

He came to my house tonight, and walked in with his work clothes for tomorrow. It was hard to leave him last night. I was glad he wasn’t leaving tonight.

We went out for Italian at Gourmet Pizza, and then neither of us got pizza. The waitress was acting all cutesy and showing off. I don’t think he noticed (either she just wasn’t on the radar, or he’s used to people noticing him, throwing themselves at him, slaying dragons in his name, etc), but I guess I had better get used to that kind of thing. It didn’t really bother me, I just noticed it.

Tonight was amazing. We have this connection. The sex is amazing, but almost peripheral. It worries me a bit. I’ve had this rush before. I don’t trust this feeling because it has always led to heartache in the past. But I know myself well enough to know that something safe and tame isn’t going to work for me. I need more. M fills me up and drains me dry. He takes everything I have to give, and then fills me back to overflowing. The feelings are like an ocean. Sometimes calm and comforting, rocking; sometimes it feels like the crashing will smash everything and drown us both. But what a way to go. I’m trying to still that little voice that whispers in the back of my head that passion like this can’t last – it’ll burn itself out. But I also know that sometimes, if you’re lucky, it uncovers the foundation of something you can build on.

Maybe I need my life torn apart. Maybe I need to have that structure gone so I can build something new and different. I don't dare hope for more at this point.

This quote, from Nicholas Cage in Moonstruck, is playing like a loop in my head today:

“Loretta, I love you. Not like they told you love is, and I didn't know this
either, but love don't make things nice - it ruins everything. It breaks
your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren't here to make things perfect.
The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us! We are
here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and
*die*. The storybooks are *bullshit*. Now I want you to come upstairs with
me and *get* in my bed!”

Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.

Sleeping with someone, though, continues to be a problem for me. And he’s a snuggler. And throws off a lot of body heat. So I ended up a good portion of the night with one cheek hanging off the bed. But I didn’t mind. It’ll work out.