Longing to see you, even as I recall your tears, so that I may be filled with joy. (2 Timothy 1:4)

I haven’t been vague or absent on purpose.  I’ve had a lot of unexpected events mar me from my usual course of life, had to say a few goodbyes that I wasn’t anticipating, had to work a little bit harder than I had hoped to stay afloat in my least favorite month of the year- but its merely days from ending. Moving has taken a lot out of me in many ways.  I have found that while this new space (once finished) will be a haven for me, it also has that dangerous potential of cloaking me in the warm but dangerous arms of complacency.  I cannot even begin to describe how good and safe it is.  How things that should make me reel with horror and sadness, things that I never thought I would be able to get over, seem sort of dull and pointless when I am in this space.

At first, I felt guilty, like I was being selfish to be happy and content in my home, to not need to always be out and away- to just want to sit on the couch flanked by warm pets and listen to Jacob playing piano from the other room- like I should somehow be grieving or incomplete- but I don’t feel that, I got over the guilt. Now I am just happy that I feel like I am home, and that home is here, and that my friends love me, cherish me, and would never easily cast me aside no matter who asked them to or how many mistakes I have made.  because that is what friends do- love each other, and forgive one another.  Its a hard lesson to learn, it has been hard for me to fully commit to, but I think it’s true.  So I just try to live as I’ve been taught to live, learning from my own mistakes, forgiving those who wrong me, and loving everyone as I love myself.  It sure gets difficult- but I like a challenge.

The house is quiet now, I’m the only restless one in bed tonight- I’m ready to join the great pool of dreams.  Few and humble readers: tell your friends how much you love them, you never know when it will be the last opportunity to do so.

I love you.

Ever Virgin.

Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "I will try again tomorrow.”~Mary Anne Radmacher

There is this very quiet part of the morning, usually just before seven in the morning.  I wake up and I am weary with fatigue, clinging desperately to sleep.  Lavan is quiet in her crate, not far from view, Jacob sleeps beside me, still thickly wrapped in dreams, he’s clueless to the sounds and color of the morning in our new apartment.  Truly, we are not moved in.  Our boxes and bags fill rooms indiscriminately, trying to edge towards the walls or the middle of the floors to stay out of the way as we shuffle between filthy rooms, frustrated and forlorn.  In that quiet time, I cannot help but imagine what our new apartment WILL be once all the remodeling is complete.  The walls, cool linen white, will host tasteful art and artifacts.  New carpet and linoliem will bear the burden of four feet and twelve paws.  New furniture, clean and sleek will be arranged just so that it feels comfortable and spacious.  The baby grand piano will be a graceful beacon in the dining room and my art table will flank it just so that both of our artful passions will move against each other seamlessly.  The air will not smell of smoke, and the warm trembling of the dryer will continuously waft the sweet scent of dryer sheets into the kitchen and beyond.  It’s going to be home.  In those quiet morning moments I don’t feel stressed, or angry, or trapped- I feel safely cradled between reality and my new-day dream, and it is a very good feeling.

This week has been insanity, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I am a little worse for wear, but I am trucking on with honesty and good cheer, and hopefully soon I will have a lot more to celebrate.  Teaching my first college class was certainly a treat today- it was scarier than I thought- but the kids seem really nice.  I look forward to their journals coming in this week so I can get to know them even more.  I’m tired. Very tired.

Ever Virgin

Is there anything better than to be longing for something, when you know it is within reach?~ Greta Garbo

It’s almost 2 am and I am alone in my apartment.  I can’t sleep.  I did a full day’s worth of activities, including a web steering meeting, a communications team meeting, a screening of the batman movie (amazing! disturbing!) with Serge and some general cleaning and organizing of the house space.  There’s no reason why I shouldn’t be able to sleep, and yet, there it is, sitting in the small of my back as I lay here on my stomach, typing, the weight that is cool and clammy and oppressive, daring me to move, daring me to make a sound, daring my thoughts to stray to a place where the colors and sounds are much more simple and  much more connected to memories.

You know, without him here, the house just feels wrong.  Even with an echo of a dinner party, even with company in my bed, there is still something missing- the smell of his wet soap in the shower or the dim glow of his computer screen from his bedroom.  It makes me wonder when it happened that a solitary world became a joint world.  I like him better than practically any other person I’ve ever lived with unless you count school roomates which personally, I would not.  He’s a very good companion. Safe, reliable, steadfast.

Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep- but it might also be the feeling of overwhelming dread that I cannot seem to shake- I cannot seem to find, in my head, the way to work everything out so that I can make it through the rest of this run of BARE, pack the house, move, live in a compromised space until our new place is renovated,  start a new semester, teach a class, plan a season of fudge…theres even more things- a few weddings, Lavan getting spayed, and officially changing all of my documents to MA ones, to  name some… it isn’t that any one of these items is overwhelming, or even all of them as a unit- it is that I am missing something that I cannot quite name.

It’s a feeling.  Like the glimmer of joy I got when Anise facebook messaged me from Spain, a jolt of electricity that comes when you know that someone you delight in is thinking of you- that notion that for the briefest of moments you are more than just one person, but a combination of feelings and emotions and slimier stuff like blood and marrow from two different people.  I don’t know how it is that he can still make me feel that way, and why Serge, for all his loveliness, doesn’t make me feel that way- which makes me think like it is pointless to go on dates with him, even though he’s a very nice man.  I don’t know what I want except to feel that glimmer of joy more often than I do now- I guess I never put the words together before, but I’m looking for my east coast, appropriate, all weather Anise.  I don’t know where he is, but if I could find him, I’d feel a lot better about the months ahead.

Do you keep dating a nice person you don’t ultimately think will be the right person?  I mean, generally I think the answer is no, but in some cases isn’t it healthy to just -be- dating, even if they don’t fit the pristine model?  I mean how many Anise’s are there out there?  At least my model boy’s merits are almost purely intellectual (though the hair was nice- and the tallness) and spiritual.  Sigh.  This isn’t helping me to get to sleep;  Maybe a shower will help- or a glass of green tea.

pointless rambling of an insomniac.

Ever Virgin.