mad woman's lib

sometimes, i am so obtuse. or as my friend, mylinh, says, 'oblong.'

i am so oblong.

i've let my imagination get the best of me ... racing forward as if life were one giant mad-lib - hurriedly filling in the blanks all by myself, when they might best be left open for awhile ... or given patiently, graciously to another to fulfill.

i, in all my oblongitude, pretend i have all the answers when i don't, really. really, i don't.

as hard as i try, i can't conjure them, can't tidy them up - they will arrive when they wish and they will be fragile and messy and they will be misspelled. they will be perfect in their imperfection.

and i will welcome them when they come ... when they tiptoe in behind me, slide in close and quiet as i sleep, crash into me full stop ... whether by text or by tongue.

the discovery, after all, the 'not knowing'... that is the real adventure - and the remedy itself ... to heal us all and make us wise before the fall.

someone bless us fools.

molten marrow and the face of joy

there was an unusual man who wandered into my store on occasion. to use the restroom, to sit in a comfortable chair and listen to the conversations going on around him, to drain the last drops from the abandoned starbucks cups customers leave on tables and counters. he was always polite and friendly. his smile - warm and porous. and when he laughed, which was often, his tongue stuck out and between his teeth. in those moments, i think he defined 'joy.'

he made people nervous. but he almost never spoke to anyone and he never stayed long. and he always cleaned up the bathroom a little and pushed in his chair when he was finished. and he always took his empty paper cup with him. (which was more than i can say for anyone else who ventured in.)

despite protests from staff and customers, i never asked him to leave. in fact, i was likely to hover nearby and help him keep his peace. (sometimes, i'd slip him a bottle of water or sneak him a doughnut from the kitchen. it was the least i could do, he was quite generous with a smile.) we never spoke, until one day last year, just before i moved away.

as i passed by him, he reached out to me. his touch tender, despite the roughness of his hand. and when i turned to him, he looked directly into my eyes, like he was looking for something in me ... i'm not sure what, but i could hear my heart slow as he did. and when he'd found whatever that was, his hand squeezed my hand and he said, 'you used to be ... and people still mistake you for ... a comet. but really, you are a volcano. and your eruption will be powerful. and beautiful. and true.'

and then he was gone.

and i couldn't quite move. i felt suddenly undone. i couldn't, in that moment, completely grasp what it meant, but i knew that it was important, for a million different reasons, not the least of which was that he took the time to look at me ... look inside me and through me and to connect. to give me this little gift of his insight. unexpected and curious.

it's been with me for awhile now. i turn it over and around in my head as i move into my new life, wondering what he meant and when i'll feel what he felt in me. i've been waiting. and a whisper in my mouth, in the deepest, darkest part of the night finally convinced me he was right. i was a comet ...

a small body, something out of ice and stars (cold and painful), orbiting the sun. my layers melting and evaporating; my tail of dust illuminated by someone else's light. i would appear out of nowhere in the sky and gradually vanish out of sight.

and now, maybe i am a volcano ...

an opening in the surface of the earth where the plates, like thoughts, have shifted. coming together, pulling apart in an erratic dance of history and mystery and magic. a head in gold tipped clouds. steamy pillars rising into blue skies. smoking green lakes. the wild play of colours on the walls inside, once dormant, now showing signs of unrest. heat rising, steam seeping, turning, rolling, spitting, grinding, laying bare my insides. the molten marrow, undiscovered deep below, breaking free into the boundless sky and landing softly on new ground bourne of fire.

unimagined, unspoiled beauty. unbound power. perchance, and weather permitting, the sole true power you want to surrender to.

and i'll never let anyone tell me differently.

just like riding a bike

it's been a long time since i've ridden a bike. a very, very, very long time.

even as i love everything about it ... the sweat, the heavy breathing; the way it messes up my perfect hair and makes my thighs ache; the adrenaline rush, the fatigue, the speed at which i feel i might come apart ... still, i haven't been able to bring myself to climb aboard.

why? fear, mostly. and i don't know the neighborhood. there's a lot of traffic. and i don't have a helmet. or a little bell to signal i'm coming. and i don't know the hand signals or the etiquette and i'm afraid of falling ... of crashing ... again, actually ... and of acquiring new scars. (for a girl of such hardy stock, i am a remarkably fragile little egg. reparation would take at least all the king's horses and all of his men.)

but in this last week, i found myself having trouble walking where walking was once easy and so, when a bike was offered, i climbed on board. and now, it's something i can't get enough of ... like sugar. or music. the sheer joy of it, stealing away my oxygen ... taking me to a place where there are no words and no need to use them ... where hours pass like minutes and i feel the old instincts take over.

and everything aches. my muscles simultaneously rebelling and rejoicing ... from the motion, from the effort, from the absolute excitement of it ... and from the uncertainty of never knowing how far i'll go or how long i'll be gone or exactly where i'm headed.

there is no map to get me from here to there ... there is only instinct. and overwhelming desire. and hope. faint, but powerful.

i'm riding my bike again.

god. i hope i don't fall.



(and if i should, wish for me a spectacular crash - the kind that leaves me shattered, wonderfully, and with only the most interesting of scars.)

a long day's journey into night

hello, she says softly, brightly.

today is the longest day of the year...summer solstice...the day we are as close to the sun as we'll ever be, and it brings with it a delicious and unexpected heat. i revel in it, bathe in it, let it swirl over me and into the pores of my skin. tomorrow, we can begin creeping toward winter. but for today, the sun shines high and hot and long, the birds sing loud and late and life is full of goodness and light.

i am certain i will smile in my sleep.

penelope

can you see the moon from where you are?

she's making an appearance, just now, outside my window. bright and lovely and completely full of herself. and why shouldn't she be? the sun's been chasing her round and around all day ... just trying to light up her face.

the night is slowly rolling in. everything covered in a thick blanket of fog. fog, which i'm told is actually 'the marine layer' ... the sea reaching all the way to the hills. it is the highest of tides, i suppose, and always a lovely excuse to burrow in for the evening.

you wouldn't know it now, but today was the most beautiful of days. i have a pink nose and twenty-three new freckles to prove it.

i spent the morning on the beach, enjoying the smell of june, walking through the waves and watching kids play in the sand - every one of us all sunsoaked and shimmery. i followed the shoreline up to the museum and lost myself in the exhibits there (as i'm wont to do), though, if i'm honest, it was a different sort of display that captivated me today.

he was tall. and she was not. they started together in front of a painting, not speaking, just enjoying the art and the nearness of one other. and then she leaned into him, ever so slightly, looked up into his face, and slipped under his arm and away to another piece. in another room, he came up behind her and touched the small of her back and she melted into his hand. he folded her into him and kissed her softly on the top of her head.

that's how it was. they'd separate to follow their own interests and then they'd pass one another and touch ... kiss a hand, run fingers down an arm ...

i saw them one last time, before they were leaving, i suppose. they ended up on opposite sides of the gallery and she looked past me, over to him and he smiled in such a way it made me blush. they started to walk toward one another and when they met, inches from where i sat, they spoke in a hush and though i couldn't hear, i imagine he breathed, 'i missed you.' and she whispered, 'i'm here now.'

i was trespassing in a moment that wasn't mine.

i tried to pull my loneliness around me, invoking its cloak of invisibility, but it was of no use. they redefined the force of gravity and i was overcome ...

... by their heat and their easy intimacy (reminding me what it is to be so close to someone that there's nothing between us but our breath and our skin) ... by their confidence ... by the idea that love like that can exist in a world like this ... by the absence of these things in my own world ...

when i finally stepped outside again, an hour had passed, and with it the longing and the melancholy (is there nothing sunshine can't undo?), and i began the long walk home, moving forward with a sense of responsibility for the life i've created, the life i've always wanted.

no part of this is easy, nurturing this life i want to live into being. and the resulting chorus in my head is loud and painful and sometimes sends me back into my shell. i have to force myself back out into the open, back toward the light. it is never easy for me - no matter how silly and positive and carefree i am. it's a choice i make everyday.

and so, i become penelope - weaving and unweaving, getting restless and longing to display myself to my suitors, fan their hearts, inflame them more and wondering when it will feel right.

and i wonder ... when the ending is done, where do you begin?

adrowsed

i am drunk ... with desire. with joy. with nyquil.

i don't know if it's an attack of hay fever, of spring fever or simply a good, old fashioned cold, with the attending rib-rattling cough, but i am feverish and can feel my pulse in my head. and my libido is in overdrive.

i thought sleep might give it pause, but the half-drowsy, half-aroused (or should i call it 'adrowsed') state, has only delivered the most delicious of thoughts ... and so i awake, flushed and freckled, to the sound of this ancient ceiling fan and to the idea of muscles moving beneath my hands and soup for two.

this rush of pure glandular energy will surely subside soon and in its place? ... clear breathing and peaceful dreams.

but what if it doesn't?

the french kiss

i cannot resist the call of champagne ... the way it whispers to me from the glass, the bubbles tickling my upper lip and sending my heart racing as in the split second before a kiss.

this evening, the glass was raised (repeatedly) in honor of my dear friend, megan, on the occasion of her commencement. she has left me alone, now, bottle in hand, having left the table to take a tumble with the boy du jour ... and who can blame her? delightful as the champagne's french kiss is, it cannot best the buss of your best boy.

i bid her adieu and wish her well - even if i am beyond envy.

'hap'py father's day

i have a friend who has two beautiful daughters. and when he speaks of them, it's as if he's lit from within. there is a color of light in him only they can make shine.

it is a joy to experience, even vicariously, that particular brand of love. i can't get enough of it, even if, on occasion, it breaks my heart.

i never knew my dad in any real or measurable way. i know some details:

his name was stanley frederick, but everyone called him 'hap' because, as a friend of his wrote, 'he was so goddamn happy all the time.'

he was a born leader, i'm told. had a beautiful voice - sang tenor in his acapella group. he studied philosophy at the university of chicago. he was a beta theta pi.

he was athletic and funny and loved to laugh. he was a good writer. he wasn't afraid to let his voice be heard and always had something nice or positive to say. he looked out for friends and took good care of strangers and made them his friends.

he loved music. and hunting. he loved his little town. he loved his dad. and his wife. and his baby girl.

he died when i was forty days old ... killed in the vietnam war. (which is why it sickens me that there is new generation of children who will learn to say, 'my dad died in the {fill in the blank} war.')

i have his cheekbones. and his eyes. i have his smile, his small hands, small feet. i have his 'bubble butt.' i hope i have his kindness and his generosity and his spirit, too. and i wish i had him here. even if only for the day.

i'd ask him to sing something. and tell me a story. and then we would just sit on the steps leading to the beach and watch the stray cats come close and enjoy the smell of the ocean and the closeness and the late light from the afternoon sun.

it would be enough just to see my eyes looking back at me and my tiny hand in his ... and the color of light in him that only i can make shine.

'perfect'

it's right, you know. that saying ... 'you can't go home again.' i know. i've tried. 'home' as i used to define it, doesn't suit me anymore. it's sad and true and enlivening all at once.

still, some days, 'home' comes to me - in the form of a phone call or a letter - from friends there.

today, it's elizabeth ... with all her sweetness and second-guessing. she is the only person i've ever met who loves everyone she loves wholly and without condition. except herself. but she's figuring that out. and when she gets stuck, she calls on me. it is an honor and a pleasure, indeed.

too, there's 'm' - the daughter of a woman i used to work with. she is small. and loud. and smart. and kind. and she is having a bad week. she broke up with her boyfriend and fought with her best friend and is trying to forget that somewhere in between was the anniversary of her father's death. she is a beautiful mess ... as all sixteen year old girls should be. she hates her hair and her height and her mother and, for reasons which defy logic, wants to be 'just like' me when she grows up.

she saw a photo of me and texted me to say, 'wow. you look hot!'

'hot?' i asked. (on the one hand, i'm tempted to ignore her sixteen year old sensibility. 'hot' is not a word usually used to describe me. 'cute' - i have cornered the market on cute. on the other hand, though ... who am i to deny my heat?)

'perfect.' she said.

of course, i'm not perfect, and i wouldn't choose to be, if i could. but that one word and its sentiment are still ringing in my ears ... reminding me how easy it is to forget how we look to others.

i look in the mirror and i don't immediately see 'strong,' 'confident,' 'beautiful' or 'perfect.' i see 'silly,' 'confused,' 'older,' ... a hundred different things. i look in the mirror and see that where others are made of blood and sinew, i am tempered glass - bulletproof, but shattered quietly and out of sight.

so, i think i'll tell her that if she truly wants to be 'like' me, she'll have to forget about being perfect; just jump in and make the big mistakes; she should remember the rules and not hurt anyone else; have fun and bring others along if she gets the chance. and, above all, just be real.

life, i think, demands authenticity. and kindness. and cheesecake.

luck is in the eye of the beholder

it's friday the 13th and i'm wondering ... what are you afraid of?

for me it's lizards and stage mothers ... having my car towed again ... tori spelling ... calamari ... never escaping a past i did not help create.

yesterday was the first in my long line of very early mornings. rising with the moon, feeling the weight of my job as i pour myself into bed later. (i love this time of year. i do not enjoy the actual waking, though ... looking at the clock in the dark and knowing i need to leave the warmth of my dreams hurts my feelings a little.) and the morning was especially dark.

the events themselves are not important. when viewed independently, they are comical almost - their depth and breadth not nearly as heavy as their collective weight. they will make great stories ... next week ... and i will almost be unable to tell them, laughing so hard in their midst i will have to pause for breath to continue. but i was crushed under their weight ... crushed under the wait for that kinder, gentler, easier sort of day. the kind others seem to pass through with ease and without knowledge that it could ever be any different.

as it turns out ... i didn't have to wait long.

i sent out a distress call and before i knew it, that bitter adrenaline taste in my mouth was replaced by hot coffee and cinnamon toast, delivered by a good friend who traveled a long way to get to me.

the things i worried most about, never came to pass. work sorted itself out in my brief absence. (what a joy it is to know i've not only taught them how to walk ... i've taught them how to fly!) the line at the dmv was nonexistent and the fees, smaller than i'd dared to dream.

there were other tiny joys ... a good hair day ... the soft and familiar feel of my favorite tshirt ... lunch with the girls ... getting a part in a play that i really wanted ... the warm summer sun in a big blue sky ... a cold, cold beer ... and finally lighting the candles in my new space and enjoying the sound of nothing at all ...

it's friday the 13th, and what i'm really afraid of ... are the things i miss when i'm afraid. afraid to ask for help; afraid to trust my instincts; afraid to believe that there is nothing to be afraid of.

and those butterflies? as it turns out, they haven't settled. they've just left for greener girls. and in their place there is warmth and peace and delicious possibility.

i am a lucky girl, indeed.

aswirl

the universe has come at me full stop in the last few days, bringing with it a cruel reminder that what goes up, must come down. energy. good fortune. hope.

(i never gave much thought to the weight of those butterflies tickling my insides until they settled, lead-footed. only now, do i truly understand the power of gravity.)

my world feels like a snowglobe, shaken for universal amusement. it's dizzying and stomach-turning and beautiful ... glitter swirling about, settling for a moment and moving on.

i wish it could stay in one place a little longer, though. i like it when i'm all shiny and happy.

a good day

the night is coming down around me. encapsulating me and trying to enforce sleep with its cocoon of darkness and humidity. in its wake, i've been sitting on the steps leading to the shore, watching the ocean - black and green against the coming dawn - and feeling the fog roll in. my hair, my skin, my clothes are damp, my smile is wide and i smell of the sea.

i am restless tonight, but strangely, not tired.

i know better - now - than to fight sleep. it comes when it wants - like the stray cats near the beach - to feed and be allowed to lie awhile.

it's cool tonight. which i love. cool enough that it would feel nice to sleep next to someone. feel him lying next to me, around me, keeping me warm and listening to me breathe. (it is an image perhaps more intimate than sex and one which resonates.)

'cool' never stood a chance at the bottom of the lone star state. summer, like the people there, was greedy ... grabbing at everything, with its heavy, humid hands, fogging up the windows and sending us back indoors. and so i find myself awake, long past my bedtime, happy for the 'chill' and for the change of scenery. there is a color of light in me that only shines here.

it was a good day, to be sure. 'fabulous' new shoes, a visit from home, the early chapters of a good book ... a day filled with the lovely ... the unexpected ... the hoped for.

maybe that's why i can't sleep. i don't want it to end. i'm fascinated by what the outcome will be. and running away to the heart of the night, i'm not afraid anymore. i know the morning will come, the light bleeding through my window, a mixture of blues and greys and a new adventure will unfold, or an old adventure will continue, and there will be finally be time for the north and south to engage in the most civil of wars ...

i've been pragmatic and intellectual - i'm ready for giddyness, ready to fall off the earth again.

and here i go ...

well enough

i don't give up easily.

i keep looking back, holding a place in my heart for ages and ages, believing, with no evidence at all, that a connection still exists. so even if my love letters lie somewhere, torn and dusty and forgotten, i am still here, offering you a remnant of something i think is beautiful.

it's painful, this tenacity, this inability to leave 'well enough' alone.

so, today, i'll try something different. today, i'll give up easily.

my hope is that it will lessen the sting. my fear is that it will lessen the girl.

.....................
songs for the day: you give me something by james morrison and a beautiful mess by jason mraz

belief, choice and the promise of love

darling lizy ...

my life, up to and including now, has never been easy. and, as far as i know, it has never been envied.

i was the grown-up in my house before i had grown into my own skin and as a result, i have spent my whole life ... my whole self ... moving between what was necessary for others – to keep them safe and stable – and what they expected of me. and the times i’ve stepped outside those bounds, whether set by friends or family or lovers, i’ve been rewarded with judgment and what has felt like insurmountable pain.

i am pavolv's daughter.

or at least, i was.

and until not so long ago, i had a man who loved me. a lot. or at least he loved the idea of me, the person i tried to become for him. and i realize, now, i loved the idea of that. and i liked our life. it was simple. uneventful. and i wasn't unhappy. but not 'unhappy' is no way to go through life.

it had become clear that i what i had seen as compromise and the natural order of a marriage was actually a bargain i made with myself. (don’t we all, at some point, make bargains with ourselves?) i had been living my life in the best way i knew to keep him calm and happy. i realized that i'd been finding ways to stand still for him. and along the way, i forgot who i used to be, who i wanted to be. and it wasn't until i was here, standing alone, that i truly understood that standing still doesn't suit me.

too, i learned that as hard as it is to be the one who is left, who is no longer loved, it is harder, by far, to be the one who leaves, who stops loving first ... who realizes that in order to fix herself, she'll have to break someone else.

and it makes me wonder if i'm worthy of all of this ... this great, grand, good fortune finally coming my way. and i have to believe that i am.

i have to believe that it's okay that i finally love my life ... that i might actually hit a homerun my first time at bat ... that i am finally truly happy, almost incandescently so.

and as for the promise of love, well, i have to believe it's okay that i believe in that, too ... that i believe that love can’t be planned, that it won't arrive when it's 'supposed to' or look the way i think it will, and i'll just fall into its arms because my belief undoes my disbelief.

it's a lot, i know. and it's not so very neat, i know that, too. but it's my life. as i chose it.

and so, no matter how envious you might be, how broken hearted, too ... just know that whatever you want for yourself is possible. happiness, is worth working for in a million tiny ways - and it will never look the way you think it will, but it will always be worth the effort. measure it in centuries and in inches and never question whether you're worthy.

you're worthy.

we all are.

as long as we choose to be.

turn around

today was one of those days that both surprises and delights.

i awoke to darkness, both inside and out. angry at the alarm clock and the theft of sleep ... still licking my wounds from an evening of pointed questions ... and cursing the brides for their early morning appointments to buy egg timers and champagne flutes.

but as i opened my door, and into the quiet house, my first step brought me to a warm spot - one where my cat had clearly spent the night, protecting me, listening to me cry and loving me as only she can.

it's funny, isn't it? that in those times when we need comfort the most, we forget that sometimes all we have to do is open the door.

and it was there the day started anew.

work was ... not as much work as it usually is. the people there constantly surprise me and the sales floor is often filled with laughter and music and more than a little dancing. on this day, though, joy came from some of the most unlikely places.

jenni made cupcakes for breakfast because she understands that there isn't much chocolate can't fix for me. paul brought be a cup of coffee the size of my head - just because i looked as if i needed extra. meg invited me to sit with her family at her graduation, because i'm 'like family anyway, only cooler.' robert bought me a corn dog for lunch, just because he thinks it's fun to watch me eat it. and david, he said he noticed there's been a bit more sparkle in my eye than usual of late and that i should tell the man who put it there to thank his lucky stars that he'd won such a prize and robert said he wasn't sure it was a man that did that for me ... it was probably the corn dog. and we all laughed. loudly.

after work, i went for a run on the beach ... pink and orange to the west, an arc of deepening blue hovering above. (in that light, my freckles, my skin, take on a golden glow, as if i've been covered with sparkling confetti.) and all of a sudden, i couldn't believe THIS is MY life. how did i ever get so lucky?

of course, it isn't luck, really. i chose this. i woke up.

i've done the hard work. i've weathered the winter of my discontent. i've worn the weight of the world on my hips. and through it all, what i've carried around, is the idea that, one day, it would all begin again here. at the end.

and in the midst of all these hormones and uncertainty, i am reminded of all that i am grateful for ... off-the-cuff compliments, freedom of the press, artistic license, licking whipped cream right out of the bowl. thinking caps, adjectives, unconventional lullabies, pale pink light tumbling into morning, conversations on paper, the impossible encounters that live in the imagination and somehow become reality, the kissing part.

i'm off, now, to meet some friends for an impromptu party where i trust there will be much dancing and laughing and perhaps a cocktail or two ... and you know what that means (she says with one eyebrow raised ...)

warning

i woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.

(though, to be fair, after reading my post from last night, i may have gone to bed on the wrong side and this morning's mood is simply its leftover.)

still. nothing can shake it. not cinnamon toast. not hot coffee. not my favorite blue shoes. not a good hair day. not even tiny kisses from a little grey cat.

i cannot sparkle. i will not try.

actually. that's a lie. i will try. it's just what i do.

what i'm doing with my summer vacation

maybe i should go away for awhile. maybe i should go away somewhere safe; someplace where you can't be lured by my sweet smile or seduced by my vampire ways.

there should be room for me in the carnival side show, i think, sandwiched somewhere between the fat lady and the siamese twins. look for me there ... corralled in an iron birdcage, delicately scrolled bars separating me from the normalcy of the masses ... seated politely in a chair, beneath a tiny, hand painted sign that reads:

nice girl.

speaks well. smells good. smiles often.

freak show material if ever there was any.

the first breath

good sunday morning to you. i'm still using too much sugar in my coffee.

i was awake at three this morning. i know - i should have been asleep, but instead, i wrote for a bit and then wandered down to the beach ... embracing my darkness, entertaining my fears and enjoying the near silence and the feel of the spray on my face.

the birds couldn't sleep, either, it seems. they swooped near, teasing the ground and soaring high again. i have been a bird all weekend, turning over and over my sad stories, tackling topics at dizzying heights, aiming for a soft landing and enjoying the flight.

and this morning, my coffee is hot and sweet, the sun rises through the haze and the darkness has gone, save for a hint here and there - hiding out in the shadowy corners of me - tucked in warmly next to scraps of hope. and of insanity. even knowing it's there,though, i still feel a great pleasure to be alive, awake and present.

i think i'll make breakfast.

and for a little while, i'll sit here, fingers and smile sticky from the syrup ... listening to the sounds of traffic, shivering under my armor and looking for ways to calm this storm raging inside my head.

this mash-up of guilt, regret, stoicism and fear is completely avoidable. i can talk myself into anything, including an elevated state of aloofness. i can choose not to care … but if i've learned anything about choices, it's that this would be a bad one. possibly the worst of all.

and so i fight hard against this willful anaesthesia and move forward into the day with discretion and sensitivity ... and a sense of responsibility for my own happiness. it won't be easy. even for a happy girl like me.

when you've been drowning, the first breath is always the most painful.

the weight of the wait

i am home again. out of the shower and smelling of sea salt and peppermint. wanting to feel warm ... satisfied ... strangely feeling neither. we all know that i can think myself dizzy ... and i am spinning ... twisting ... the images, the sensations of this secret dance, they stick to me. i can not shake them ... nor do i want to.

there will always be shadows i can't run from ... ghosts who brush their cold fingertips across my skin ... but they aren't you. they aren't us. and it's foolish for me to suppose or second guess at a time when i should be content to wait ... and see how things unfold. i ought to be, i can be, i am ... content. to wait.

so the question that begs is how to make peace with something too good to be true? and once we do, can it be explained?

i don't want to wear my heart like a girl in a hurry. i want to enjoy the flicker and know i'll be warmed by the flame. i want to be shattered wonderfully. but you'll have to forgive me if i don't know how to do this. my skin is painfully new.

the question of meaning is for you and i to answer. are we a beginning? or a deep and dying breath? i think i know the answer, but i can't quite reach it. 'use your words,' i think, but it doesn't help. the evening has gone straight to my lexicon.

what i know for sure is that i am happy. the last few days have been blissful and i'm keen to see what happens next.

and i am completely unnerved.

and at this i smile.