Lucky break

I never could sleep well next to him, and it had nothing to do with being uncomfortable, and everything to do with not getting over the thought I can't believe my luck.

Same day delivery

I keep telling myself that its good, its good, that leaving now means leaving when its good, when its perfect, and nothing can touch us.

But I keep telling him I want to pack him up and ship him along with the rest of my belongings.

Amorous

No words. Only: enamored.

The sun also rises

I felt myself fall a little bit in love with him while the sun rose this morning.

To my own detriment

What are the chances? In a city this small, of course I'm running into him (thus why I'm leaving a city this small), but why now? Or maybe, of course now. He's available. I'm leaving. I'm seriously interested in someone else despite the leaving. And that's when I pause. Would I? I'm seriously interested in someone, nothing is defined, mostly because it can't. It can't be defined when I will be a thousand miles away in mere days.

But the question remains, would I? Will I? Because I am leaving and circumstances are what they are, they are what they are, nothing is defined, would I kiss someone else? Would I kiss him? Will I kiss him? Will I do my damnedest to see how it all plays out? Will I pretend like its out of my hands?

And then, if I do, will I fall over myself into guilt?

Why am I doing this? I am leaving! Why am I considering these possibilities? Even if I do, if I kiss this other man, it won't matter, because both of these men won't matter, because in a week, I won't be here.

Game on

What is the difference between having great conversation and having great sex? What is the common denominator? Whywhywhy do I like this one man so much on paper, over drinks, over lunch, but not anywhere else? Why can't I equate this great conversation into great everything? Why is it with The Bartender, why is it, that the conversation is fine, the bits where I'm not giggling, that is. Its fine. We're not talking major issues here. But it feels different, and it doesn't matter what we're talking about.

This blows so much out of the water. Does it even matter, really? Is fate just going to do what it wants? It doesn't matter that I like one man, that I think he's witty and charming and intelligent, because I'm not going to feel anything. Leave me alone with The Bartender for five minutes and just you see. You will see.

How much am I actually responsible for here? Do I have control over anything? Do I have control over the fact that I found myself playing the 82% game and beating my own personal record this evening? Sitting at a table, scoring 100%. I'm too good at my own games, it seems.

Happily ever after

We're curled up together, about to doze off, when he asks (between all the giggling and tickling, of course), "Do you fall for someone easily?"

And can we get a show of hands here? Can we all attest to the fact that this is very strange behavior on my part? All this cuddling. All this smiling.

As a matter of fact, no, I do not fall easily. I am the most abrasive, guarded, mistrusting woman you will ever meet. So no. I don't fall easily.

And don't worry, I'm leaving. I'm leaving in a week. We both know it. We both know its necessary. And maybe I'm stretching it, but- we're both disappointed. I found someone. Someone. Not even someone. Him.

I get up in the middle of the night to go to his house after he gets off work just to sleep next to him for a few hours. This morning, I got out of bed at 6am to go to his house, we watched "The Dark Knight" at dawn and then went back to bed a 8am, with me getting up shortly thereafter to work. It has nothing to do with alarm clocks or movies or even what was said, just that its not yet dawn and I'm wrapped up in his arms on the sidewalk before I walk into his house, realizing an hour after I arrive that somehow we're holding hands, that I didn't even notice, it just happened, it was meant to happen, I couldn't stop it if I wanted. Its the going to sleep and then just talking, talking about me leaving and him asking if I fall in love easily and me having a moment, no, just a second, where I worried I'd cry. How silly is that? I'm infatuated with him, I am. I'm leaving at a point where we can both go about our lives, that this won't matter as much later -oh, who I am kidding? You're never going to hear the end of The Bartender, the way this is going.

I guess, well, its this: if I stayed any longer, I would fall right into love. I would. Right now, me thinking about him, me typing about him, me planning to go for a run in a few minutes, me unloading the dishwasher, me searching for my umbrella: I'm falling in love with him. If I get out now, if I leave when I leave, I'll be in Chicago, just searching for my umbrella, no ulterior motive.

I may just grow to hate umbrellas and forever associate them with me losing this. Am I losing this? Is this something to lose? Or is this shelf life what makes it great? Because we're never going to fight about my drinking or his smoking habit or how I can't stand his going out every night or how I won't ever shut up. We will never have this. We can't. We get this brief, fairytale bit. The beginning of happily ever after. Until I fly away.

Its all in the details

I'm too busy giggling to write anything significant. Too busy pressed up against him, too busy smiling like a fool, too busy wondering what he's doing and holding his hand, to realize how natural it all feels.

Handle with care

I certainly didn't sleep well. I kept waking up, touching him. Kissing him. Getting closer. Him pulling me into him. Touching his chest. Finding his hand. His beard. His hair. His arms. I couldn't keep my hands to myself. I also couldn't stop giggling. Looking at him, looking at me.

This chemistry. How long has it been since I've had this kind of chemistry? Over a year. Yes, now that I think about it. Me waking up next to him, instead of cringing, instead of beelining for the door, I couldn't get close enough.

This is so unlike me.

Wake up call

I woke up.

He was there.

I panicked.

But then realized: its him. Its good. I'm good.

Sleepless nights

I didn't feel well. Couldn't sleep. Couldn't sleep.

He sent me a text message. I was still awake.

He came over at 4:30am with some meds and a back rub. I finally fell asleep pressed against him at 6am.

Love from the Windy City

The thing is, we're both in our own worlds. Me drinking red wine and planning my escape, him getting high and content with the here and now, literally.

I'm leaving, I'm happy to say. I will very soon be writing from the confines of my apartment in Chicago. So the Bartender and me? This is nothing. While exercising today (where I get my best ideas), I realized that if I stayed here, I'd make new friends, I'd fall in love with the Bartender, despite me recognizing all his bad habits right this very second.

I haven't been in love in a very long time.

I'd rather have Chicago. (Or maybe I'd just rather have me. Just-- me.)

(And it pains me to say this, right this very second. I'd rather be in love. I'd rather love someone who is all wrong for me. I'd rather stay here and love him. I'd rather spend my time cuddling and smiling like a fool and not behind a computer, ranting and writing and working. Working. I'm leaving. I'm leaving and the plans have been made, I am going, and of course, right this very second, I could be falling in love. Instead, I'm searching for cheap flights.)

Truth be told

Its like vodka was truth serum, and suddenly I couldn't stop telling him about how there are plenty of other men. There are plenty of other men with whom I could spend an evening, go on a date, kiss. But he's the one who left his socks on my floor and -dammit! I don't want their socks on my floor. I want his socks.

"Flying Shoes" and other matters of the heart

Oh, no. I had a good date with the Bartender. Fireworks. Chemistry. Chemistry on every level. I'm not used to this. I don't know what to do with good conversation and good kissing. He walked me to my bike. But didn't kiss me. We're at that part where we cant get enough, where it may look like something slightly inappropriate, us kissing on the street. Its new and good and we cant get enough. May offend others. Can't stop touching. I grabbed his hand to get his attention, to show him something, and he commented about this hand to hand combat, before realizing I was showing him something. Before realizing I got self conscious. And paranoid. And scared. And worried that he was not interested at all in my hand. Only: my hips. My breasts. My lips my neck. I felt myself erect that wall right then, right on that street. Undressing me is one thing, him taking my hand as we walk down the street is worlds away from my understanding.

Cuddle buddy

I guess the jig is up. I shall call him Bartender, in keeping with the work-related pseudonym. Also, this story sounds quite tawdry (more so than usual, that is) without this knowledge.

The Bartender texted me when he got off work, early in the morning. I had been asleep for hours (you'd be surprised how much sleep I manage to squeeze in around all the kissing company I keep). One thing lead to another, and I left my house at 3:30 in the morning just to go over and cuddle with him.

I've got it bad.

A world away

I can't get a damn thing done. I keep snapping back from another world, a world in which all there is, is how good he smells.

One, two, three times a lady

I can't even make this up. (Wait, have I said that before?) I wanted to meet the new one, the one who still doesn't have a pseudonym because I just can't decide what fits him best and maybe, maybemaybemaybe its something important, and this pseudonym really means something. Because he really means something.

Nah. Now I'm just being dramatic.

So I planned to meet the new one for a drink. But then he was taking too long, and I found myself meeting The Editor for a drink. But immediately worried it could get weird. But thought the new one wasn't going to show regardless.

The new one showed.

But not before The Musician also moseyed in.

Have vs have not

Why do I concern myself so much with this men business? Why does every word out of my mouth have something to do with a man whom I want who wants me who is ignoring me who I am ignoring? Why do I devote mass quantities of free time writing it to death? Why do I talktalktalk about it all of the time? I am my own person. I am not defined by a man or a lack of a man. I am my own person. I am my own person. And saying that, still, sure, I am affected by these men. These minute experiences. I’ve come to realize that it’s the tiny, inconsequential experiences that make up this existence that is life. Life: it’s in the details. My current bitter attitude towards the opposite sex didn’t happen over night, it didn’t happen due to one huge incident, it happened during the course of these tiny events. These tiny non-events. Somewhere between having drinks and having sex and no longer having a reason to call. Have, have not.

Attachment issues

The problem here is that I feel myself becoming attached, I feel myself enjoying this too much, and I'm worried that its just the same as it always is.

More than words

"All I know is when you smile I believe in everything."

Yo La Tengo

Excuse all these italics in advance

Why can't I be a little vulnerable? Why can't I just hope that maybe he feels the same? Why do I have to tell myself that its not a big deal, that its okay, act flippant, act like I don't care? Tell myself I will not wonder what might have been? Could it just be that I'm vulnerable (but just for a second)? Can I just like someone? And hope to hell that maybe he feels exactly the same way?

The planets aligned

Dress I don't wear often.

Spritzing perfume.

Obsessing over the details.

My stubborn independence: No, no, I'll come to you.

Running into The Musician upon leaving my house (he was visiting my roommates).

Certainly glad my stubborn independence won this time.

Jinx you're it

I can't say anything. I'm too scared to jinx it.