my place to write.

It's been two years now. I'm as in love with him as ever.

So I can't explain why I keep thinking about other men. Why I keep wondering about who has ever loved me. Why I have thoughts about kisses and hugs floating about in my mind.

Maybe in this period, when I'm feeling so vulnerable, it is tempting to fantasize about all the men that could wrap their arms around me and make it better. Maybe I just want to collect all the love I can get my hands on and cover myself in it, insulating myself from the past, present, and future.

I don't know. I just want to sleep all day.

I've felt this way before. When I first starting seeing him. It was scary to say how promising it was out in the open. I was afraid that if I let it out too soon it might die.

Now I'm keeping my dreams of grad school tight in my chest. I don't want to let it out too soon. I want this dream to come true.

I am in love. I want an MFA. I've got my ambition back.

Feeling small, crazy, weird.

Happy to be married to the love of my life.

Wondering if I'll ever be okay.

There's no really good, clever, subtle way of saying this, so I'm just going to write it down and move on: I tried killing myself last Friday night.

He wrestled two knives away from me and had to lock the hallway door to keep me out of the kitchen. There was lots of crying and desperation. Anger, too. He was only able to sleep by keeping his arm tight around me.

I'm feeling a lot better. Saw a new therapist who in one visit successfully convinced me that: 1) I am a worthwhile human being and 2) I shouldn't kill my husband's wife.

I'm not going to kill my husband's wife. Or my brother's sister. Or my parents' daughter. Or my nieces' aunt.

I do believe things are going to get better.

Might be falling into it again.

Really wondering what's wrong with me. I don't think people are meant to be sad sacks like I am.

But he keeps me going. He's the best thing I have.

He calls me "Georgine".

:)

"I know you love me. I've never felt that before. Like, since birth."

"What if things never get better?"
"You know what? Even if things never get better, I think we're pretty damn lucky. We have each other. I'm serious when I say that I never imagined love like this really existed."

"You're perfect to me."

"We were meant to be."

I'm shaken by thoughts of these other women from his past and all I want is reassurance that yes I am pretty enough. It makes me want to put on a short skirt and walk through a construction site or put my picture up on Hot or Not or something equally immature. I don't know why, but I need validation from the outside world right now in the basest way: to be seen as a sex object by somebody that isn't obligated.

I'm disgusted, but genuinely hoping for it.

I just don't want to feel like an ugly girl forever, you know? I've felt like that enough already.

Still haven't quite figured out how to keep ghosts of the past from getting to me.

I know that he wants me, that he married me for a reason, that I won, that he doesn't want anybody else.

But still, I think about all the women he's been with and whether they were better than me. If he misses their cleavage or if they were better at sex.

Especially can't stop thinking of him having sex with other women. Any confidence I have kind of goes out the window when I think of their bodies and compare to myself. And I can't stop.

I'm going to make myself sick.

I thought I had more confidence than this.

It takes so little to shake me to my core.

I still have a hard time explaining to myself how it is I can get in a fight with somebody I love so much.

It doesn't seem right somehow. But I know that's silly. People fight.

I guess the important part is getting through it.

And we do.

I think I wouldn't mind being pretty for a fat girl.

I just want to be some kind of pretty.

I'm not going to kid myself about being beautiful anymore.

Just pretty.

I hope that's not too much to hope for.

For my birthday he gave me the best card I've ever gotten.

On the front, he drew a picture of our house with me and him standing on the lawn.

Inside he said that he loved me more each day and he was the happiest he's ever been.

Me too.

:)

Not pregnant.

Not working full time anymore.

Not morbidly obese.

Not sure about what happens next.

Not sad.

How can a bodily function wreak so much emotional havoc?

My period is late.

I shouldn't have a baby yet. But I want a baby. But I don't want to risk harming a baby because of my nutritional complications. But oh god wouldn't having a baby be the nicest thing ever?

Gotta calm down. And take another pregnancy test.

I love my weekends with him.

We sleep in late. Wake up together. Compute side-by-side. Talk. Eat. He watches his weekend car programs. I knit. We kiss.

We may not have the best luck in the world, but we are quite lucky.

I need to remember that.

I've been crying a lot lately. Things are hard.

During one of these breakdowns, I asked him to tell me why he was ever attracted to me in the first place, why I'm special.

He said I had a cute face, and I was clever. Then he said I was the nicest person in the world.

He warms my heart when things are at their darkest.

I stumbled upon that blog entry that perfectly reminds me of him the other day. Particularly:

So I'm happy. I'm happier than I'd be with anyone else. Most girls would say I was crazy to choose this one, but I'm three hundred and thirty-seven. They can want their brand new summer boys. I know that when Beef actually smiles, that smile was hard come by.

This morning I put the covers over my head and I wished I would disappear.

Things are hard. They're too hard. It's too hard to keep going. I don't know how much longer I can do it.

I thought the future was going to be better than this. I thought that I was doing things right so that one day I wouldn't have to worry about if we had enough money to eat anymore.

What are we doing wrong?

I hope things get better soon.

He didn't get the job.

Last night, we both cried.

"Why can't we get a break?"
"I don't know."

I really can't understand why his 15 years of experience can't get him a job that pays more than nine dollars an hour.

It's depressing.

Tomorrow we find out if he gets that job that might change our lives so much for the better.

I'm so nervous.

I got so giddy and excited when I heard him refer to me as his wife the other day. It was surreal. Like when all you've ever wanted finally becomes reality. It's hard to believe you're actually living through this.

But I am! I'm his wife. I have a new name now. I've even signed it twice already.

This is real.

After realizing that we both just wanted to be married already, it was pretty easy to decide to just do it.

We got our license on Friday and called up his friend, an ordained minister. And so it went down on Saturday: at a gas station in Visalia, California.

It was very quick. So quick that it made the whole thing a little hard to believe. But I doubt a longer, fancier ceremony would have made it easier.

I'm a married woman!

It's a little hard to believe that he's my husband now. But amazing, still. I'm a married woman. He's mine forever.

I'm very happy.

We're married.

:D

Realizing that baby craziness is probably stronger in the person with the uterus.

He says he wants to have a baby, but he doesn't have all the fibers of his being screaming out for it. I know I am alone in this. That's okay, I guess, because I have to wait anyway.

Right now, I suppose I'll focus on keeping myself from buying parenting books a year too soon.

Yesterday I came home from work and sat in his lap. I felt so safe and loved there. I never wanted to leave. I kissed him a lot.

Then we went outside and played with the dog. Our little girl.

And as he was throwing her the ball, I couldn't help but think: So this is what's it's like to be happy with the person you love most in the world. To live with them and be content.

This is what it's like and it's wonderful.

Baby baby baby. It's all I can think about.

I can't have a baby right now.

But I want a baby.

But it's not the right time yet. I have to wait a year. Because of the surgery. For health reasons. (Mine AND the baby's.)

Wait wait wait. The baby will come when the time is right.

Okay okay okay.

I didn't know it was possible for me to want a baby so badly. It has caught me off guard, to be honest. I don't know how to stop thinking about babies.

I want to be a mom.

Rocky, our beautiful 12 year old cat, died yesterday of liver failure. He tried so hard to hang onto life. It was so difficult to watch. We've spent the past two days crying for Rocky.

This ordeal has made me think about death. It seems that everybody goes too soon.

I told him nothing can ever happen to him.

He said nothing will.

If all goes well, by this time next year I could be trying to get pregnant.

My hormones want me to get pregnant right this moment and fill my nest but my brain knows it's not the right time yet. But I talked it over with him and he thinks that next year maybe we could start trying. By that time we'll hopefully be able to live off just one income and I'll be able to quit my job when the baby comes and dedicate myself to raising him/her for a few years.

Having a plan makes me feel so much better: like I can get through this next year calmly (hormones and all) if I know that we're going to try for our baby in the near future.

He's going to be a great dad.

I'm going to marry this man.

Soon.

And it makes me the happiest girl.

Some people on the message board are calling me beautiful. I think they're just being nice because, you know, they're supportive and caring people. But then part of me wonders...

What if I do come out of this beautiful? Not beautiful for being a fat girl, but just conventionally beautiful. Without qualifiers.

A girl can dream, right?

His grandpa called me Georgie today.

It was adorable.

In the mornings, right before I have to get up to go to work, he puts his arm around me sleepily and we spoon so nice that I never ever want to leave his side. It takes gargantuan effort to move his arm and slide out from under the covers.

And when I come back to kiss him and tell him I love him right before I leave, it is all I can do to keep from crawling back into bed with him, all warm and nice.

It is too much to expect me to ever want to leave this man's side.

Had a dream that my friends and I were thinking of joining a ballroom dancing club. So there was a band playing and people dancing. I wanted to dance, but none of my friends did. So I ended up dancing with John. It was a fantastic dance. I was wearing a beautiful dress and did some moves I couldn't believe.

Sometimes the future gets scary. I don't want to be poor for the rest of my life. I don't want to always be struggling.

But he tells me everything's going to be alright and I believe him.

It will be alright as long as we're together.

He can't sleep when I'm not with him. We were apart one night last week and he got about 4 hours of sleep that night. He told me that I need to be there next time so he gets a good night's sleep.

It makes me feel so necessary. My chest swells a little when I think about how he needs me to sleep.

I like being needed.

Coming to terms with a fact: John had feelings for me back when I had feelings for him.¹ I don't know why this would be significant now, but it is for some reason. It doesn't change anything, but accepting this as truth is turning out to be trickier than I imagined.

It has something to do with all the dreams I've been having about my old crushes. It has something to do with believing that I have always been good enough to love. And I guess finally knowing that John could have loved me...I don't quite know what to do with it. It feels special, but it's so long past that it's pointless to nurture it. It doesn't matter anymore somehow, but it does.

Now I just want to keep him as my friend. We still talk just like old times. That's all I want. Okay, subconscious?

OKAY.

^{1: There were many times when I caught him looking at parts of me, there was that time he caressed my butt, and the time he put his hand on my thigh. All the slightly long hugs we had. These things were real, not my imagination.}

Had a dream about one of my high school crushes, and then couldn't stop thinking about John.

This is so weird.

I worry about my deflating skin. I'm constantly standing in front of the mirror, naked. I lift my arms out and stare. I look at all of my skin and worry.

He senses my worry. So I talked to him about it last night.

"What if you stop being attracted to me because of my saggy skin?"
"I can't not be attracted to you. It's not possible."

And then all is right with the world again. Plus, there's always plastic surgery if I need it in a few years. Part of me wonders how neat it would be to be his smokin' hot wife. Could I really ever be smokin' hot?

I wonder.

Already thinking about my vows. And the wedding isn't for 6 months.

Being with him so long; things are changing. I get annoyed more easily, yes, but I also feel safer than ever. I notice those little things he does that tell me I mean everything in the world to him. He tells me to lock the doors when I wait for him in the car, even in broad daylight. He comes to bed with me even though he doesn't actually go to sleep until hours after I do. He washes my protein shake cup at night so it'll be ready for me to use in the morning.

I don't know if our relationship will change as my body changes, but I know that whatever happens, we will get through it together. He is my penguin, and that's really all there is to it.

For now I will relax and enjoy every time he says, "God, you look so small!"

Lots of dreams lately. Two kinds.

I've been dreaming about other guys. It's usually a conglomeration of all the guys I've ever dated/flirted with as one entity of a man. It's really weird. Recognizable but foreign. I wake up from these dreams really weirded out. I feel guilty for having them, but they're just dreams, right? I think they might be a manifestation of the seriousness of my engagement sinking in. No, I'm never going to have another man again. So all the men of my past life are coming around to haunt me. So I can say goodbye?

Goodbye. I belong to another now.

The other theme: makeup. I want to be pretty. I think this is why I dream about makeup all the time. Eyeliners, nail polish, lipstick, everything. I get so excited about this stuff in my dreams. When I wake up I can't figure out why I was so excited. I have makeup. I have lots of it. But I don't use it. Maybe I really really really want to be pretty but I refuse to put in any effort. That sounds like me.

I feel so helpless sometimes, when he's sad and all I can do is tell him I love him and squeeze him hard. But I guess that's how it goes, right? All you can do is be there.

His sister's baby was born yesterday. We went to the hospital and held the little redheaded wonder. I cooed at him as my instincts demanded.

After the long drive home, we lay in bed, cuddling and happy in each other's company.

He asked me what I was thinking and I told him: babies. I asked him if he wanted one and he said he has wanted one. I told him, I think we'd get a cute one if it had half of his genes. I said maybe if we were lucky it would get his amber eyes.

And so it was decided. In a couple of years we're going to try to conceive.

It's not a decision we've made lightly. It took almost two years for us to get to the point where we could both say that we wanted to have a child. But now that it's been said, I feel good about it, because I know that we're doing it for the right reasons: not to fill a hole in our lives or make ourselves complete or any of that nonsense, but because we want a child to love and teach and share our lives with.

We have lots of love to give.

Making peace with my selves: former, present and future.

I feel so lucky to be living in the now. Lucky to have a chance to appreciate myself, finally; all versions of me.

And I've got my favorite person in the world to share the journey with: the guy who was right there with me when I felt my ugliest; the guy who is right here now being my biggest cheerleader.

I'm living in a beautiful present. I hope it only gets better.

It was cold this morning, so he hugged me close. The alarm went off too many times, and I kept delaying getting up from bed. Because it was so warm there, with his soft skin next to mine.

That's my favorite place in the world.

I can't believe how good things are. I feel so good. I'm getting comfortable with my skin. I keep taking pictures of myself because they all amaze me; I look so different. I want to scream to everybody that I've lost 50 pounds.

I just now bought lingerie for the first time in my life. I may still have 80 pounds to lose, but I don't care. I'm excited with my body now, and I'm going to use it to its full potential. It's really nice to know that at least one other person in the world likes my body too.

These are exciting times!

I have already started practicing signing my new name.

We're going to the coast house today. Bringing the dogs with us. Probably just going to watch movies all day, watch the ocean and eat donuts.

Doing nothing with him sounds like bliss to me.

In the mornings when I wake up, I just lie there and look at him. I smell his skin and smile.

Perfect, perfect.

Yesterday at work I wrote him a letter apologizing for things and vowing to be better. After work we headed off on a mini road trip to Atascadero to buy some wheels for his Jeep, so the letter was left in my pants pocket, unread. He didn't need to hear any of what I had to say. He just loves me. That's it. I don't have to vow to him that I'll be better or berate myself for what I did wrong. That can go unsaid. We have each other and that's all that we need really.

During the drive we talked about the wedding instead. He made me laugh and cry at the same time when he told me that if it were up to him we'd get married at a drive-through in Vegas. "We could hang some flowers here in the car."

He's such a complete guy. I'm okay with that. It's why I love him, to be truthful. I'm okay with being the one who's going to worry about the details--like how to cut an 18" round cake. All he has to do is show up and marry me. I'll take care of everything else.

I think we've decided on a location. That's a load off my mind until it's time to plan the rest of it.

I'm gonna get married to the man of my dreams!

Yesterday included an hour-long shower, filled with sobbing and hoping the too-hot water would melt my skin away.

He pointed out that I was being selfish. Because I assume all of his moods are because of me.

That does sound pretty selfish. But it's not on purpose.

I hated myself pretty intensely last night for it.

We both cried a lot.

He asked me at one point why I was trying to push him away: always asking if he still liked me. I've thought about it and I think it comes from not believing I'm good enough to be wanted. I still can't really believe he would want me, so I ask him all the time if he's sure.

God, I'm fucked up.

I crumble at the first sign of trouble.

I don't want to do that anymore. I want to be there for him. I want to be strong enough to not panic if he's too sad to greet me with a smile. I want to be stable enough to believe that he could love me.

I'm not good for him right now.

I want to be good for him.

We've got a little coastal town in Oregon picked out for a few years from now when we'll sell this house and build our dream log cabin in the woods. He'll have his own shop and I'll have chickens. And maybe we'll have a little one, too.

I'm so in love with this man. He's my absolute perfect match.

I might be the luckiest girl in the world.

My sister asked me about the thing on my arm that looked like a bruise.

I had to explain that it was a scratch and I had done it to myself. She actually thought that he had done it to me, which was so crazy I almost laughed.

This has got to be the worst thing I've ever done to myself. I've made more intense wounds before (one took three weeks to stop oozing), but they weren't visible and that made them okay somehow. This one though, it's right on my forearm. Visible to anybody. A big red scar that I'm going to have to explain to my mom at some point. Dumb dumb dumb.

It's only after you've got a little bit of distance between yourself and the act that you can really appreciate how stupid the act was. I feel so much better these days, it's hard to believe I was desperate enough to do such a thing.

I can almost feel my brain mending itself.

Just like my guts mended themselves after surgery.

I might be ready soon to go back to work.

I've got a fierce cough that wakes me up too early lately.

He's sleeping right now. I wish I could go back to bed with him but I know I'll just cough and wake him up.

I talked to Ro yesterday. I told her that we think I have agoraphobia and she said she kinda suspected. I forget sometimes that she's Ms. Psychology. We talked and laughed and cried. She made me feel normal.

We concluded that I've basically always had agoraphobia, but it's mostly been in hibernation. I get flare-ups, but most of the time I've been able to control it.

So here's hoping I can gain control of it again.

I've got agoraphobia. And panic disorder. Or maybe just agoraphobia. I don't know.

He still wants me. Even with all the things that are wrong with me. He still wants to be with me forever. He still wants to take care of me forever. He still wants to be my husband.

I'm so thankful for him.

I found the best penguin.

I'm so glad I'm marrying him soon. Sometimes just thinking about it fills me up with joy and makes me tear up. And I look down on my ring and smile.

I'm so lucky I found my soul mate.

I've been wearing my engagement ring now for a couple of days. It's a gold one with a ruby in the middle and three little diamonds on either side. And I don't even like gold, but I love this ring because it used to be his mother's. Every time I look at it I think about how his mother used to have this ring on her hand, and even though I never met her, we're connected now.

It's beautiful.

I'm still having my troubles. You know. Like, "I'm never going to be normal!" Or "I'm the biggest loser on the planet!" followed by "How could anybody like me?"

But he does like me. Which reminds me of something.

On our second date, which was basically me hanging out at his house all day, we were listening to a Patsy Cline record on his record player. We were sitting in front of the record player on his bed. After a song, I rested my head on his shoulder. We sat like this for a while, listening. Then I looked up at him and said, a little timidly, "I like you."

I'm proud that I had the guts to say that. And so glad that over a year later, I can still say it to him and he says it to me. We love each other, of course, but we like each other too. This is why I'm marrying him.

My fiance, when I ask him if he thinks I'm pretty, answers with: "Hell yeah".

They say that since estrogen is stored in your fat cells, when you lose a lot of weight rapidly you get an overload of hormones. Like extended PMSing.

I'm definitely there. Very emotional lately. I don't know if it's actually the estrogen thing or just the surgery catching up to me but I feel all weird.

He noticed my face already looking thinner. I thought he was crazy but it's true; the pictures don't lie.

I'm sure I had something better to say, but I feel weird and I can't write. Oh well.

Sometimes I feel a little silly just thinking that somebody had their hands inside of me and cut me up not too long ago. I keep wondering how it is that my guts aren't falling out. Marvel of medicine.

I'm holding together pretty well, considering. He's been so great: helps me with everything. I'm slowed down a bit but it's alright for the most part. Sometimes things hurt, but I expected that so I feel like I'm doing pretty damn okay.

Sometimes I get carried away imagining all that the surgery is going to do for me. Like I think maybe I'll be tiny next year. Or nobody will ever know I was fat. It's too early to tell. I need to calm down.

I have brief moments of fear seep into me. I've even uttered the phrase, "I don't want to die." Sometimes I think of all the things that could possibly go wrong during the surgery and I am convinced that they all will. And that I'm going to leave him all alone with a mortgage. It terrifies me.

But most of the time, I accept that I'm doing this for my health, that my surgeon is excellent, and that a year from now I will look back on this and think that I was so silly to have been scared.

But still, just in case, I'm going to give him the little notebook I was planning on giving him on our wedding day. The one where I write all the reasons I love him. He has to give it back though, when I come out alive and well. Because I'm still not done working on it.

Things he does that make me laugh:

He calls pants, "pantclothes" and shoes, "shoe-tools".

He's always talking about classic cars he could see me driving.

His favorite message board is for garage enthusiasts.

Whenever we're going anywhere, he takes about fifteen minutes to put his socks and shoes on.

He tangos with the dog.

He does a great impersonation of a crude English tabby.

I'm lucky.

He's already thinking about us having an anniversary party at our house when it's fixed up.

:)

The other night I was asleep when suddenly he hugged me tight, crying, and said, "Nothing can happen to you."

I promised him nothing is going to happen to me. I'm going to have my guts cut and rearranged, but I must come out of it alive. Because (and I don't care how this sounds to anybody) neither of us has a future without the other. So I'm gonna go through major surgery and be fine.

We've got a wedding to look forward to and plan. A tremendously cute puppy to take care of. And a 1930s kit house to restore and remodel.

He makes my future so much better, and my present worth gold.

Sometimes being in love catches up with me and fills me up unexpectedly. And I want to bear-hug him and never let go.

It's wonderful living with my favorite person. I can't wait until I can call him my husband and take his name. (The thought gives me a giddy thrill.)

So despite all my problems, I have it pretty good. Anxiety attacks and depression don't really seem that bad when I know I have him to come home to and kiss on the couch and hold in our warm bed.

I asked him last night, incredulous, "Do you really want to marry me?"

He said, "Absolutely. I wish we were already married."

Being engaged is nice. I like it being official. I like that people get some inkling now that this is the man I'm going to be with forever.

We're happy. Our family and friends are happy. And I can't wait till next year. We'll have our nice simple little wedding and I'll be his Mrs.

I'm happy.

He's an hour away right now. Headed home. Headed to me.

So I will write to stave away loneliness.

I am listening to the CD he made me about a year ago. The CD I would pop in my stereo on crisp Saturday mornings for my drive to Visalia. It always takes me right back to that time, when he was so new and exciting and the slightest touch thrilled my core.

This is my favorite time of the year. Fall leaves, sweaters, blankets, fog. Cuddling up with the one you love.

I'm choking up. I guess because I never really imagined I'd be in this place. Let's count the things that have changed in the past year:

I met him. This guy. He's hilarious, sweet, tough, loving, thoughtful, amazing. He's my perfect match. We get each other's Simpsons jokes. We share so much. Not more than two weeks after we met, I remember telling him that my soul was old friends with his. And I still haven't found a better way to explain it.

I got a job. It's not the best thing in the world, but it has insurance and I work with lots of nice people. My job is boring, but it will be endured for a while. I'm just glad I have one.

We bought a house. In August we became owners of this place. It's our very own place, we've filled it with our stuff, and now we just have to fix everything. But there's something amazing about being 23 and having a house. A place we can paint.

On November 13, we will have been together for a year. We count from our first date because, really, there was nothing else from that night. We're going to recreate it. I'm so excited about this date. It means more than you'd imagine; we haven't had money to go out in quite a while, but we made sure we'd have enough for this night.

I feel like I've changed this past year. I guess that happens when you meet your soul mate. You start thinking about both of you, forever.

You stay awake listening to his breathing.
You cry when he cries.
He cries when you do.
He knows exactly how to touch you when you're sad.
You buy his favorite candy.
He dances for you to cheer you up.
He puts his hand on your back to make sure you're breathing since you just started new medication.
You can't imagine a future without him.
He can't either.

I don't mean that I have the perfect relationship. We've had a couple of fights. Disagreements. Cry-fests. Insecurities. All those things.

But what I mean to say is that I have something so good that I never imagined I would be lucky enough to get it. I have the love of a wonderful man. I have big strong arms to cry in. I have a big lug to take care of. I have the love of my life in my grasp.

Life is good.

I've gotta go now because I'm crying.

Big things coming up. Our first anniversary. Might get surgery. He might ask me to marry him soon. Holidays. Family. Parties.

Things are good. I might be getting better at handling stuff, too.

Cross your fingers.

His grandparents are the closest I'm going to get to having in-laws, I suppose. Last night we stopped by their house and his grandpa was watching the Red Sox game. He offered us cannoli and milk. I accepted and I told him this was the first cannoli I'd had since I lived in Boston. His grandma said how these cannoli didn't compare to Boston cannoli, and then the Sox made two home runs.

We hugged goodbye and I was happy. Because my in-laws like me and I like them.

He called me the love of his life on Saturday.

It was pretty amazing how much those words meant.

We adopted a puppy yesterday. She is adorable and she loves us already. We are housetraining her and she's a fast learner.

I couldn't help but think last night while we were in bed: Our family is complete now.

I don't think there's anything else we need.

I made it an entire week at work. I went in every day and even though it gets boring I felt good about it on Friday because it meant I actually deserved my weekend.

He makes me so incredibly happy. Sometimes I just sit and look at him and smile.

Last night I had an awful dream that he died. In the dream, my mom had to physically stop me from jumping off a cliff.

That's about right.

Diagnosed with panic disorder yesterday. Got some pills that make me incredibly sleepy until the next day too. What a mess I am.

I've missed about five days of work in the last week. When I wake up and then think about what I need to do, my heart starts beating fast and my stomach starts hurting and going to work is the last thing I ever want to do.

Looks like my social phobia is creeping up again. I don't know why. I don't know what to do to make it go away. But maybe the doctor can help me today. I need to go to work again.

Three weeks.

Ups and downs and in-betweens throughout but mostly ups you know. This is our home now. We wake up together. Kiss goodnight and goodmorning and warm hugs.

Sometimes we both cry and sometimes things get tough. He's been laid off and my fear of going outside is creeping back up but really nothing seems that bad when I think about it because he's right here for me and I'm right here for him.

This is exactly where we're supposed to be.

I can't wait to make him snickerdoodles again. He said my snickerdoodles are the best snickerdoodles ever. Yeah.

Completely satisfied. We're both exhausted from everything that's going on but it doesn't matter much because we're so fucking happy. I mean, we own a house. We're going to be living together from now own. No more driving away from him on Sundays. And I get to cuddle up against him every night and kiss him every morning.

It's really all a dream come true. I can't believe I'm this lucky.

Last Friday, news of the delay of the house key turning over upset me a lot. I got to his house, exhausted and angry and ended up just crying in his arms.

"God, I hate this. I hate getting excited and then something retarded like this happens and it all comes crashing down and then I'm just disappointed. And disappointment is the worst feeling of all."
"I know, baby, I know."

We hugged and he made jokes and it passed.

But I must admit that I'm still nervous about this whole thing. After so many setbacks in the house-buying process for us it's hard to believe it's going to turn out okay. We haven't exactly had the best of luck.

I never imagined I'd be so completely satisfied by another human being.

I can't sleep. So I'll write.

Last week we were driving around our new neighborhood and I was trying to figure out where I would shop for groceries:
"I guess FoodsCo is the closest."
"I'm not letting you shop there."
"Why not?"
"It's in the ghetto. You're going to a better neighborhood to do grocery shopping."

(I can't get over how sweet that is.)

Today we went mattress shopping and found a wonderful set. It is so comfortable and completely worth the investment, even though I never imagined I'd be spending so much money on a thing to sleep on.

We've bought a few other things too. Shower head. Curved shower curtain rod. Sheets. Toaster oven. 60 piece food container set. We're still looking for a red slipcover for his couch or an affordable red couch or a way to make his couch red, whichever comes first. (I have always wanted a red couch.)

We're still in awe, I think, that this is actually happening. We're getting our home. We're going to be together in our very own nest. We're going to start our lives together: really.

This weekend was smiles and kisses and contented sighs. There was really no other way to play it. We have each other and our dreams are coming true.

He told me that since he met me he's been the happiest he's ever been in his life. I am too. I am completely convinced that we're supposed to be together for the rest of our lives. We just belong together, that's it. Even when there are hard times, even when things get tough, being with each other is the best place for both of us. It's our home.

On Friday we will officially own that house on Flower Street. That is where we will start our home together. Full of all the love and hope that's inside of us, brimming to the edge.

Sometimes I cry because I never imagined I could be so lucky. Because he's all I ever wanted. Because I'm so happy I might explode. I might cry now just thinking about it.

I can feel myself unwinding. All of the things that led to my bad dreams are slowly melting away. I've had about four days of good sleep and it's so wonderful; I was starting to forget what waking up without a rock of fear in your chest was like.

I think I'm letting go of some of the irrational fears that took hold of me. I trust him completely, and it's starting to reflect in my dwindling list of worries. He chose me. He loves me. He's building the rest of his life with me.

The past doesn't matter. What matters is now.

And now is fantastic. It's full of hope and love.

Thursday:
Despite his protest, I sent his ex-roommate an angry email. Actually, that's probably an understatement. I called her lots of names and told her all the horrible things she did and how badly she treated him and that she should be ashamed of herself for admitting that she just used him. After I sent the email I burst into tears. I guess I just don't have the stomach for that kind of thing.

Friday:
We had leftover pizza for breakfast, hung out on the couch, and then headed over to do some work at that house he's doing. It was pretty bad in there. Tweakers are disgusting. I didn't want to touch anything. After a couple of hours we were done for the day. Too tuckered out for anything else. We went home, picked up some food, and got ready for bed. When I got out of the shower I had the worst headache. So I couldn't focus on the movie we were watching. I fell asleep clutching his arm.

Saturday:
We slept late, woke up and had cereal together. We finally got out of the house in the early afternoon, hoping to make it in time to catch the new Batman flick at the Imax in Fresno. We didn't, but it was an excellent time on the normal screen anyway. We went to a Chinese buffet afterward because we were both craving and we both ate entirely too much. No more buffets. We stopped at his sister's house on our way home and he put coolant in her car while I talked to her about the odds and ends of life.

Sunday:
I had lots of bad dreams. I woke up constantly. Something's wrong with my head. I had a bad one about ticks all over my face and another about being in a dungeon with haunted books. I also keep having dreams about makeup. After crying I realized what it meant. "I figured out why I keep dreaming about makeup. Because I'm ugly." He said that wasn't true and that I was beautiful. He squeezed me hard.

...

The house might close in a week. We might spend next weekend cleaning our new home. I want that very much. I want to live with him and feel safe. I need to feel safe.

On Sunday night, after spending almost the entire day by myself in a hotel room because of unfortunate dumb things happening, he and I and his friend and his friend's wife went out on a double date to a barbecue place. I didn't realize until we were at the restaurant that I'd never been on a double date before.

This couple is so much older than us. He's in his 40s and she's in her early 50s and they have a 12 year old son. Despite these things though, the four of us had so much fun. Something special happened that night, I think, and it really felt like we were just two married couples out on a double date and we'd known each other forever. Our relationship has never felt more legitimized by other people. We were in, you know. We were just like them for that shining night.

I think we both felt it in our lungs, that electricity of feeling like we were already married. That night we were both so happy and content and affectionate.

So yes. I can't wait to get married for real. I know that it's different somehow. I know it now. And I very much want it.

I think I've finally gotten over his ex-girlfriend. That's such a dumb thing to say, but it might be true. I spent time at her MySpace profile this morning (I know, also dumb) but this time it didn't make me jealous or anything. I read her blog entries and mostly I just wondered at how he could have possibly been involved with somebody so different from me for six years. And then in a moment of high vanity, I thought about how much better I am for him.

I'll allow myself that thought because it is my birthday.

So I need to fax the mortgage company my transcript but I can't find it even though I turned my room upside-down and then I just say fuck it and print the scan from my computer and my last two bank statements but when I go to fax the thing my parents, sister, and the horrible father of my adorable nieces are having an intense argument about him being a douchebag so I have to sneak through them to get to the phone and then fax the things while everybody is yelling and the fax goes through but the lady calls me to say some of the pages got garbled on her end and I need to send them again so I do and then I try to have dinner while everybody is yelling still but the lady calls again and says that she needs the last two nonsense pages of my bank statements and I want to pull my hair out but here you go anyway and then I can finally have dinner and everybody has stopped yelling but when I finish I have another voicemail asking why I only had $150 in my account at the end of June and whoa I panic because of course lenders don't want you to be poor so my stomach starts churning because it's thinking I'm not going to get our house anymore and then she calls me again and says that if we can prove I had $2000 for my deposit from my online statement we might be okay.

...

This house-buying business is brutal. Last night was the first night in weeks that I actually was able to sleep the night through. I think it was because I had such a nice Tuesday with him here. He words and his jokes and his touch just kind of smoothed everything else out.

I am not very optimistic about tonight's sleep.

It's so hard to go to sleep without his hand on the small of my back, comfortably warm against my bare skin. It's so hard to wake up when he isn't there to touch and kiss. It's so hard to go a whole day without feeling his arms against me and smelling his skin.

But maybe I won't have to do it much anymore.

Soon.

Another wonderful weekend of nothing and everything. Sleeping, home, nothing. Hugging, loving, everything. I wonder sometimes how it is that we're so compatible. How we seem to decide to take mid-afternoon naps at exactly the same unspoken moment. How every physical advance is reciprocated perfectly. How we're both thinking about each other and smiling goofily at the same time.

I don't know. But I sure am lucky.

On Tuesday we looked at interior design from the 30s and planned out what we want to do with our kitchen, living room, and dining room. I love that wainscoting is in my lexicon now.

We were lying in my bed just hugging and thinking about having our house and it was really one of the best Tuesdays I've ever had.

I'm not going to die of cervical cancer at 22. I'm going to become a homeowner and live with my favorite person in the world. I'm going to make flour tortillas from scratch and snickerdoodles. I'm going to make jam and preserves and learn to sew. I'm going to have a house with hardwood floors, a sunroom, and beadboard in the utility room. I'm going to live with three cats (and a puppy in a few months, after our cats have met each other and gotten their bearings).

Very soon I'm going to wake up every morning with the love of my life right next to me, safe and warm.

What a day. Last night I tossed and turned forever. Wide awake at 3am for probably two hours just thinking about the house and us and everything. Worrying and trying to sleep with no luck. Bad dreams and all this anxiety inside me.

On my way to work I called him and told him about my night. He was awake at 3am too, also nervous. But we talked and we want it and we're going to do this together and it's going to be good.

After that morning crying spell I was feeling good at work. The house is finally listed as "Pending" and it made me happy inside.

Late afternoon I get a call from my gynecologist's office. Abnormal pap smear. More tests needed. Maybe a biopsy. I started thinking about why I went to her in the first place, the unusual bleeding, and looked it up along with abnormal pap smear and it turns out those two things are maybe signs of cervical cancer. I freaked the fuck out, of course, and cried again on my way home from work during the Weakerthans song about Virtue explaining her departure.

When I got to my house I almost cried as I was telling my parents. My mom got really scared and my dad said if it was really serious they'd test me sooner than August 8. I'm not sure how true that is.

...

I told him that I cried and he read articles and let me know that even if I did have it I would be okay because it's early and it's not too aggressive a cancer and everything will be fine.

He made me feel better. Tomorrow we go into escrow and I get to see and touch my favorite person in the universe.

I guess everything will be okay.

She doesn't matter anymore. Only I do.

She may have been around for six years, but what we've had for 8 months is stronger than what they had all that time. I know this. I must stop thinking about her. I have got to stop.

He wants to be with me only. Just me.

When I got the call that they'd accepted our offer on the house, I was hesitant to believe it at all. When it finally did sink in, I still tried to focus on all the things that could go wrong. Then I moved onto fear. Being scared about taking on this loan and the work and moving and everything.

But I talked to him. He's scared too. He's going to have to find a new job and leave his sister and friends and everything. But he wants it. It's a big deal for both of us but the wanting to be together kind of trumps everything else.

Today we're going to look at books and make plans. Tomorrow we're going to go see it again and take measurements and pictures. And in 30 days I might have the keys in my hand to our new home.

I slept 12 hours. I woke up hot. I might have another infection. I don't want to go anywhere or do anything. I certainly don't want to go to another doctor. I feel bad because I didn't even try to see a psychiatrist like I was supposed to. I'm so afraid of everything.

I had another freakout this weekend. He still loves me. He still wants me more than anything.

I'm probably going to need a medication for the anxiety that follows me everywhere. But sometimes people need a little help, right?

...

Today I was happy. I didn't cry. In the morning a thought came to me.
He loves me more than anybody in the world. I'm the most important person to him. He's mine. When he wakes up, the first thing he thinks of is me. Just like I think about him. How wonderful it is to be loved.
And it floated me through the rest of the otherwise dreary day.

I'm still not sure how I was lucky enough to be found by him, but the least I can do now is hold on. We're in this for keeps.

On Friday I met Harriet. When I was waiting out in the hallway for her to finish with somebody else, I was so nervous I started shaking. When I went inside, I promptly started crying at this stranger for an hour and a half. She is very nice and thinks since depression seems to run in my family (with the women, anyway) I might have a brain chemical imbalance problem. She thinks I should find a medication for anxiety too. She's going to help me build a good place inside of me where I know that things will be okay and I like myself.

I need to get in control. To stop the bullshit so I can just enjoy what I have. To get this brain back in line so it'll let me be happy with my favorite person in the world.

The therapist called me back. It is only because she called that I have an appointment on Friday. I don't think I'm bad enough to need help. But I did cry at work today.

Mostly I'm just ashamed of myself for being depressed.

I woke up thinking that I didn't need to see a therapist, that it was selfish of me and I'm fine. But then my face was hanging over the bowl of Cheerios and I really wanted to cry. So now I don't know.

I cried in his arms about my depression diagnosis and my Zoloft prescription. I asked him if he was disappointed in me and he said, "Of course not" so I cried some more about how I thought I was okay and now I figure I'm just kind of always going to be a little bit screwed up. I cried harder at him as I apologized for crying at him so much and then we both laughed at the ridiculousness of it but I started crying again at the ridiculousness of me.

But he tickled me in the spots he knows and he made me laugh with his voices and then he squeezed me in that way that I can feel his soul hugging mine, telling me he will help me because he loves me more than any other person in the world and that everything will be okay. Okay.

I guess sometimes people just need a little help. I need help being calm and not crying about made-up threats and my faults. I'm going to try to be better. And that's all any of us can do, right?

Well, I don't know how I managed, but it seems I figured out a way to be depressed while simultaneously crazy in love. I'm pretty sure that's not supposed to happen, but here I am. Back to Zoloft we go. Hopefully this will help me to not think that I am a pile of shit, which is the case more often than not.

I was so happy on Monday. The happiest I've ever been. I was smiling constantly and just happy happy happy. Thinking about everything that is great. About how much I have with him, about how amazing everything is and will be.

But then something started happening to me. I got really hungry and sleepy and cold. It was a difficult day to get through at work. On Tuesday I stayed home and went to the doctor where we found out I have a bladder infection (again or the most indestructible bladder infection ever, considering I've already gone through two antibiotic treatments). I went to work yesterday. It was so hard. I was so tired all day. All of my muscles are tired. Every movement takes so much effort. Just walking from my car to the library tired my legs so much. The entire day I was fighting tears and so cold and hungry about every two hours.

When I got home (after almost falling asleep a few times on the drive) I ate and went right to bed. I woke up to take my medicine, talked to him for a while, and then went to sleep again.

Today I feel the same, maybe worse. I get hungry like clockwork even though I've already eaten. I'm so tired. I just want to sleep.

I see my doctor tomorrow. My blood test results should be in. I wonder what's wrong with me. Maybe it's just this motherfucker of an infection I'm trying to fight off. Maybe I'm falling apart like I've always suspected.

Today's Sunday drive home was the nicest I've ever had. I was so happy. Thoughts of the future are swirling around inside me and making me happier than I have any right to be. The present is filling my insides with warmth.

We've got an offer out on a house with a really good chance of going through. We're making remodeling plans for it already, and despite knowing that we shouldn't get too excited, we are.

I don't know how it is that I'm so fully satisfied by somebody, but here I am, the happiest I've ever been and full of hope. Hope that soon I will share a home with him and we can start living out the rest of our lives. Hope that someday soon I will be his Mrs.

I used to think that being so attached to somebody would be ridiculous and dangerous. But I understand now, I think, that when you find your person, you really don't have a choice.

I want him forever.

Last Saturday we were watching some movie on the couch when his roommate came in. I said hi to her but in the shuffling of entering the house with bags she either didn't hear or actually doesn't like me and didn't say anything back. I stung but before I had a chance to really feel bad, he squeezed my arm gently. A wordless "it's okay, don't feel bad" before I even felt bad.

I've never felt so known in my life.

In March a tow truck driver hit on me. It was flattering and weird. Yesterday a guy who works in my library was flirting with me. It was baffling (Have you seen me?) and flattering again.

I told him about these incidents both times, mostly because I thought they were funny, but partly, now I realize, because it's a little bit exciting to know that I'm desired by other men--not that I want them or would ever consider anything--and telling him triggers a jealousy in him that is a little bit delicious to me.

I never imagined I'd be excited to make my boyfriend jealous. It's one of those manipulative things that disgust me, isn't it? But when he's jealous I feel like he wants me more. Like I'm worth fighting for. Like I'm really not that girl that nobody wants anymore.

...

In-between sobs recently I confessed to him what I actually think of myself, deep down:
"I'm not a real person; I'm a caricature of a person. I'm so ridiculous."

The words just came out of my mouth and since then they haven't left my mind. In my darkest moments they blow up like balloons and fill every crevice of my brain. I'm a caricature of a person. I'm not a real person. I'm a caricature of a person. I'd never thought of it that way before, but sometimes it seems more true than I can stand. For example:

I've begun to stutter and convulse during moments of high emotion. I remember stuttering once before but never as severely as recently. It took me so long to get through a sentence. I was so confused.

When I am very upset, my stomach hurts (old news) and now I've begun to induce diarrhea. Purely through my emotions. That's pretty fucking ridiculous.

I feel forgotten. (And this is my own fault.) I'm not sure that I ever actually touched anything in this world. I don't think I'm a real person.

I'm about to cry right now.

Communication is the hardest thing for me. I never know how much to share and how much to let go. We've agreed that we need to work our communication.

Because I don't want anything getting between me and him watching silly movies on tv, snuggling on the couch, squeezing or kissing every little while. That is about my favorite place to be in the world. Second probably only to being in bed with him, happy and warm.

Anyway, we've got work to do. But that's okay. We're doing pretty well considering we have my brain to work with. You know. This brain.

I wondered today how our Tuesday dates would work once we had our house. But then tonight as he was lying on my bed and we were just being together I realized anything we do on Tuesdays will be fine, as long as we're with each other. As long as he's telling me jokes and tickling me and we're laughing together and touching each other. What more could I ask for, anyway?

There was this thing that was so so dumb but kind of escalated to a bad place and then we smoothed it over because who wants to be mad anyway but by bedtime it had festered into something real and painful somehow.

He got sick and I got sick. I cried and he cried. We fell asleep but when I woke up my stomach hurt again and I didn't know what to do. We talked again and finally broke through. I'm going to be better about speaking up when things bother me. He's going to do things too. And really what it all comes down to is that we're going to fix anything that comes up. We lie there in bed, tears streaming down our faces and holding each other tight and we always kind of just realize that whatever is happening we need to fix it, because this person in our arms is our favorite in the whole wide world and we will do what it takes for them to be happy and our partner forever.

I don't know how I got lucky enough to find a man as patient and loving as him. But now that I'm here and he's mine, I'm going to keep him as long as possible. Because all I've ever wanted was to matter to somebody, and I matter to him. He matters to me. We're going to be okay. We can get through anything. We will always be okay.

He's my favorite person in all of the universe.

And I'm his.

12 hours. I leave for work at 7am and get back home at 7pm. I look at the clock every ten minutes. And all day I think about how long I'm spending there and how little I have to show for it. I don't have money to spend. I don't have a reliable car. I don't have free time. I don't have a house. And I can't see any of it on the horizon. I can't see anything good coming up. I can't see us in that little house soon. It's all like some dream I shouldn't have the gall to dream anyway.

I thought it'd be okay that we didn't do anything on our six month anniversary. I thought I had convinced myself that it wasn't that big a deal and we're so poor and we were busy fixing my car anyway. But then today all my real feelings snuck up on me and poured that big thing of Gatorade over my head.

It's still sometimes a shock when I realize that I keep veering into that territory of typical female feelings. It's not that great. You've never seen a guy broken up over an anniversary. I haven't, anyway. How stereotypical is that.

So here I am, feeling guilty that I'm asking him for us to do something, feeling guilty that I'm probably making him feel bad, but unable to shake off the need. Unable to just forget about what's past anyway.

This all might have something to do with the fact that my job, the one I spend almost all of my waking hours getting to and from or doing, doesn't matter at all to anybody in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm disappearing.

It makes me inappropriately desperate for reassurance. It's ridiculous and now I feel bad again.

It's not perfect; I have my meltdowns where it feels like my skin is coming off and nothing will ever be right, but then the sky parts and everything is clean again. I have him, he has me, and together we're going to be crazy weirdos forever, existing simply and caring for each other when we have our meltdowns. I can't tell you anymore why I love him. I decided a while back that's just for him and me to know. But trust me, this is the closest either of us ever imagined anybody could get to perfection.

Neither of us could have predicted that we would ever be trying to buy a house in Bakersfield. But here we are, wanting that more than anything else, and desperate to really be together, really be with the most important person.

It's kind of beautiful, where I've ended up.

I don't cry at him about silly things anymore. (Last week he got through and obliterated that fear I had left. I feel perfectly secure now: certain that we'll get through anything and we're going to stay each other's.) But I almost cried today when I was leaving his house. Because it seems to ache more each time that I have to leave. And I know I'm a silly girl, but it's true.

I just want to keep on this path with him.

I had a bad day yesterday that spilled over into our Tuesday date night. I cried and cried at him. He held me and reassured me. He cried too.

All my atoms love him. I wear my seatbelt for him, and I've asked him to wear his for me.

I can't make my stomach stop worrying. Everybody thinks I'm ridiculous but I can't stop. I wish I could just float along until I got some news about our offer on the house, but instead I sit and stew in worry.

I am ridiculous.

The bank hasn't responded to our offer. I thought I was going to hear back about it yesterday. It's Thursday night and I still don't know. This bank has our future in it's hands and that makes me so nervous I think I made myself sick. I had to come home from work today after being there for only an hour because I felt so crummy.

I can't deal with uncertainty. I hate things floating in the air, outside of my power.

I really hope I don't have to fret over this the entire weekend. Because that would be brutal.

Today our realtor called me to check in. She said the bank hasn't responded yet about our offer, but she'll be calling me tonight or tomorrow probably with their response. When I was talking to her I was so queasy. I still haven't been fully able to calm down, five hours later. I'm so nervous. I really want this house. I want to start my future already. I want to be closer to being a Mrs. and buying bedsheets and curtains. I really do.

"The neighbor's backyard was nice."
"Oh, really?"
"You didn't see it? The fence is like 5 feet tall."
"I'm 5'3"! Where do you think my eyes are?"

...

He really thinks the bank will accept our offer. I really hope he's right.

So here I am. I'm 22 and I have an amazing boyfriend. On Friday I was pre-approved for a home loan. On Saturday we went down to see houses and got a tour of a cute, affordable one in a nice neighborhood. That afternoon we went back to the realtor's office and signed the paperwork to make an offer on it.

I've been scrambling up cash for the good faith deposit check I made to the realtor. But I got it. I'm going to have the money. And by Wednesday I'll know if we're going to have a house soon.

On Friday we met in Bakersfield and spent the afternoon looking at houses. We discovered the bad parts of town and the parts we can't afford. But we also found some very cute and affordable houses in a nice neighborhood.

I'm in communication with a home loan officer already. He's running the numbers.

We're excited. Apprehensively excited. We're afraid to be too excited, in case it doesn't work immediately, but we can't help being excited because it would just be so great.

Even my parents are excited.

Oh wow I hope this works out soon.

I miss him. I don't get to see him until Sunday; the gap is too long. I want to spend my evenings on a couch with him and my nights with him at my side, with kisses in the morning. I want to talk to him about his day without my phone service coming between us. I want to give him hugs all the time.

In a few months, maybe, if we keep our fingers crossed.

Spending the weekend with him was great. I woke up early on Saturday and kind of just lied there smiling at how nice it was to be in his bed, with his skin next to mine all night. I told him later, "All week long, it seems so silly that I'm not with you every day," and he replied, "I know, it's such a waste, isn't it?" It is. It's exactly that.

When I wake up, I think about him, before I go into work, I text him, at work I think about him constantly, during my lunch break we text, after work I text him, when I get home I eat and think about him and then text him or chat online, and before bed we talk on the phone. It's completely ridiculous that all day we long to be with each other but we can't. "And you can't even stay over on weekends,"--that's the worst. If I had the promise of a weekend with him every work week, I would be so happy.

"Do you think we're still gonna make it out by the end of the year?"
"By when?"
"Before it turns 2009."
"Yeah, I think we'll make it."

I just need to sit tight. At the moment, we are both in a spot where gas money is a huge concern, so we need some months to get things together before we can do big things. Just sit tight.

"I don't want to buy a car. It's just...I could be saving up money for more important things, you know?"
"Yeah, but I don't want you stranded on the side of the road somewhere."
"Yeah, I know."

I guess I should be sensible and get a new car soon. Mine does this thing where it kind of twitches and tries to veer in other directions while I'm going fast on the freeway. It's a little scary.

But it's hard to set things aside, you know? Right now I have to set aside the dream of our house. Because I need to save up for a car first. But I want a house more than I want a car. Oh well.

I am trying to make myself more patient. It's difficult when I'm thinking about catastrophes all the time though. But I'll get there. And we'll have our house before we know it.

It's not so bad as all that, I don't think.

It's nice. It's nice to have him.

I might have broken something. I think I forced us to cross the threshold from idealistic young couple to realistic young couple. I'm not really glad that I did.

Here's how it happened:
I was bummed out that he had been less affectionate lately. I had found a few emails he had sent when we first started dating and they were so nice; I kind of got nostalgic and then that quickly turned to paranoia. Like, "Oh wow he must love me less because he doesn't do all that stuff anymore." I stayed in that mode for a while and then I graduated to, "He was with that girl for six years and then decided he didn't like her anymore. They could have started off just as well as you and him. What's to say he's not going to decide one day that he doesn't like you anymore?" That thought frightened me so much. Now that I've had him, thinking about all of it being taken away was so scary.

It all kind of festered and then exploded inside of me. I asked him some delicate questions you know, and we talked a little over the phone about some things. But on Sunday I drove over and it kind of just all came out in a torrent. I was babbling about things and he asked, baffled, "What is going on?" and that prompted me to blurt out, "You were with her for six years and then you didn't like her anymore. I don't want you to decide one day that you don't like me anymore," followed by sobs.

There was silence for a long time. I'm not sure how to interpret it. He might have been marveling at how silly I am, thinking about the plausibility of it happening, or completely at a loss as to how he should reassure me. But I was thinking during the silence and I realized some things.

I'm never going to be able forget that he was with somebody for six years and then let go just like that. But I'm not with him because of the promise of a future. A future is nice and all, but the present is enough. The present is wonderful, except when I'm being an overly-emotional wreck, which I only have myself to blame for.

So I broke the silence after a long while, "You like me right now?" He confirmed this. "Okay," I said, "And you'll tell me if you ever don't like me anymore?" He will. That's all I need, really.

But I wish all of this hadn't happened. Because now I wonder if the fiasco has him rethinking if he can put up with me forever. If he has the energy for my episodes. He had mentioned a wedding a few days before this (perhaps in jest; it's hard to tell with him sometimes), but now I wonder if he's second-guessing. Because I remember how in the middle of this he asked why I was looking for problems.

Fuck. I'm crying now because I feel like a damn fool. I don't doubt that he loves me...so what's my stupid problem? Gosh, I did such a dumb thing. After all that crying we had a good time, but I can't undo the sadness and doubt I brought in. It happened and now I'm even afraid of mentioning saving up for a house or living together or a wedding or a future.

I changed things. What is my freaking problem?

"i love you too"
"a lot?"
"the most"

I just spent about three hours reading articles about men, women, sex, and relationships. Not because I needed advice or anything, but just to try to be the best. Typical over-achiever behavior, I think. Wow, now I'm kind of embarrassed.

Anyway. I'm not sure exactly how things are going to play out, but it doesn't really matter. We're both in this wholeheartedly and nice things are going to happen. I know that. There aren't red flags, terrible fights, or weeping fests. There are quiet, unpretentious moments of domestic bliss. There are fantastic nights and lovely days and comfortable mornings. There are bright hopes and plans for our futures. There is the satisfying knowledge that we're going to be there with each other.

That's all I need.

Amazing Saturday. I was filled with the kind of satisfaction that seeps into your bones. It's getting harder and harder to leave his house. Harder and harder to get through so many days without him.

My job means we can start saving and the housing market is perfect for buyers right now and soon he's going to have to find a new job anyway and wow wow wow this might actually happen. It's within grasp.

Beautiful.

He's excited about the future too. It seems almost within reach now, you know. Our little old house with wood floors and a fireplace. The puppy. TV on the couch. Whole wheat bread and steamed vegetables. Jellies. Cookies. Records. Woodworking. Touching anytime.

I could get drunk on thoughts of the future.

Yesterday as I was preparing for my interview, I looked at myself and said, "This is it. This is the job you're gonna get yourself."

I did well during the interview, wrote my heart out for the written portion, and this afternoon I got the call. They offered me the job and I accepted immediately.

It doesn't start for a couple of weeks, and even then I probably won't get paid until a month after I start, but still, I feel so great. I don't have to keep looking or go to any more interviews or write any more stupid cover letters. I can finally start planning my future. Soon I'll be able to buy jeans that fit and pay for my keep around here. And I'll be able to treat him to dinner for once.

It's a beautiful day.

I didn't want to come home. I didn't want to leave his side tonight. I got so sad about having to drive back that I started to cry a little. Because we'd had such a nice weekend together. Today we played with his sister's puppy and had hot dogs and watched tv together and it was just so great. Deeply satisfying.

"I think we're gonna have to get a puppy."
"Yeah, I know."

We'd been thinking about Tibetan Mastiffs ever since I saw the Westminster Kennel Club dog show at the clinic the other day. We saw pictures and read about them online together and thought about adopting one, you know, when we finally live together. But after rolling around today with this puppy I think we're going to have to go the baby doggy route. Because it's going to be important to have a little defenseless thing to teach, train, and take care of together.

I had all these beautiful things this weekend. I slept in his arms. I woke up with him by my side. I had hot dogs on a lazy Sunday afternoon with the man I love and an adorable puppy. It was so especially hard to let them go tonight. But maybe I'm being greedy. Maybe it's not supposed to be that good yet. I probably have to work a lot harder to get to that wonderful place.

Yesterday was our three-month anniversary. We had dinner together and had a very nice time.

This morning I got a dozen red roses delivered to me. And chocolates. It made me cry; I felt so special.

Today I am going to try so hard to learn to crochet and make him a special valentine.

Tomorrow I am making him a special cheesecake. Because it's his birthday on Saturday.

On Saturday, we are going to his sister's house for his birthday dinner.

I really could not be happier with this guy. I am so lucky.

I had another bad interview today. I cried on the drive home. Then really all I wanted was to be in his arms. Still, actually.

The time I get with him isn't enough. One full day and one half of a day each week don't nearly satisfy. About once a month I get to spend the weekend with him but that's not enough either. It's so hard to go to sleep in my cold bed when I could be in heaven in his. I ache to be with him.

It's his birthday next week, and nothing within my means is enough. Nothing I can do or give him can adequately express how lucky I feel to have him in my life, how lucky I am that this guy from out of nowhere started talking to this weirdo on the internet.

All I can do is make him a cheesecake and a card and hope that he knows.

But I think he knows.

On Saturday I was kind of a quiet mess. Everything was fine, but my brain wasn't. I missed him a lot, and he was out working on his ex-girlfriend's mom's car. I was so lonely, you know. I don't have anybody to go out with that isn't him. My brother's gone and my parents do their thing and my sister does hers and here I am all alone.

Anyway, that night when we were talking I kind of started crying because my brother hadn't called me and neither had John and I was too ashamed of myself to call any of my other friends.

So I was just crying and then he made this joke but I thought he was serious and it made me cry so much harder and I went into a panic attack and I couldn't breathe.

But he was able to bring me back.

...

I've been feeling kind of down and tired lately. I think it's just...well, I'm sick of the present. I don't want to go to a million more interviews. I don't want to deal with that inane shit anymore. I want to have a job, save some money, and live with him already.

Yesterday I realized that in a week we're going to hit the three-month mark. It really upset me because I thought that we were going to reach four. He joked, "I know, it seems like forever," but I think he knew what I meant. Nobody takes us seriously, precisely because it's only been three months. Our assuredness doesn't mean anything to other people until it's got time to back it up. I really just want the time to back me up for when I tell my parents that we're planning to live together. I'll need it then.

Today he was going out to work on somebody's car, but a while later I saw he was still online. He explained: "I got distracted by New Yankee Workshop...now I want to make my own cabinets...someday".

Yeah. That's the man I love.

The day after I asked if we could live together, he told his roommate that he didn't plan on living there by this time next year, and she should be gone long before then. They've been having problems anyway, but wow that was extraordinary.

He was telling me about a bus that takes people all around to foreclosed homes and how most of those people aren't really going to buy but they're just looking and I said, "Hey, we're those people!"

Not yet, anyway. But soon enough.

After my interview today we went back to his house and had some food. He had to go back to work for a little bit after that, so I took a nap in his bed while he was out. It was so so nice to roll up in his sheets and smell him while he was gone, until I fell asleep.

We were in bed until I had to come back home. It was glorious.

So I didn't ask him what I'd meant to ask him.

Are you still going to want to marry me if we live together first?

It was unnecessary. The question will be more pertinent some other time.

"Did I tell you about my personal goal for the end of the year?"
"No."
"I'm not supposed to live here anymore."
"Really."
"Yep. Do you think we can do that?"
"I think so."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I think we can do that."

I think we can do it. And it makes me happy right down to my very core. The cute little house might be further away, but I can sleep well knowing that by the end of this year I will be in his arms every night and wake up to him every morning.

Today was a very good day.

We've talked every night in a row for about two months.

I was at Planned Parenthood today and it made me realize just how good I have it, really.

I've graduated from college, I have a supportive family, I am not pregnant, and I have the best boyfriend in the world.

I may not have money or a job, but those things will come. They're not the important ones, anyway. I've got all the important things already.

I'm going to go think of little houses now; with window seats, hardwood floors, and breakfast nooks.

Oh my god what is wrong with me? Seriously. He's the best boyfriend in the world and I'm always causing problems. I do this. I freak out about things that aren't even real because my brain is so good at freaking out. What did I freak out about today? That he didn't notice my scab. That he hasn't said he likes any particular parts of me.

I made him cry. I made myself cry. And it was for such a stupid reason. He loves me so much. He's so devoted to me. He's so sweet and caring in every way. I know all of this, but I still succumb to those bad feelings that tell me he really wishes he was with her again, the one with the big breasts, because they were able to practice sex together for six years and my paltry 2 1/2 months can't compare. Those thoughts that say he doesn't really like looking at me, he's just tolerating my body. Those thoughts that try to convince me that he really deserves better than me.

I guess I still haven't gotten over being fucked up. I thought I was over it, you know. But maybe I never will be. Maybe this voice is always going to be inside and it's just up to me to learn how to handle it best.

I hate that I make him feel bad when he hasn't done anything wrong. He's so good to me and then I go and have these freakouts. It's so stupid.

He told me today that he loves me right now just as I am and he'll love me always. But I can't keep doing these things. I can't keep upsetting him like this so often just because my brain is weak. It's not fair. I don't want him to live that way.

So I need to relax, you know. Stop thinking about his ex. Stop thinking about the old-timey movie stars he likes with the pretty bodies and nice hair. Just stop.

Because he chose me. I'm with him now and he wants me now. He loves me now. I can't push him away because of that old "I'm not good enough" bullshit. I am not going to lose him just because I'm a dumbass. I'm not going to let myself lose him.

I'm jealous.

What the hell, right? I don't doubt his devotion at all, but there are just these things. Like he was with his ex-girlfriend for six years. Six years! How much must she have learned about him after six years? And his roommate. She gets to live with him. They act like brother and sister I know I know but still, she gets to live with him and I don't and I'm jealous. I had to come home by 10 so he went out to a movie with her and she's sweet and his friend but oh my goodness I am jealous.

I feel dumb. I know I am being ridiculous but I can't stop the dumb little nagging in my head. I get why people are so into marriage now. I finally get it. It would be such a nice blanket of security.

I'm figuring out his quirks. (He's doing the same with me, I'm sure, since we're both admittedly weirdos.) Sometimes they're just things that are different. Other times they are things that are difficult. But every time, I get this feeling of, "I gotta figure this out," and quick too, because I want to get back to being perfectly content with him.

Things come up and we deal with them and then we move on and we're perfectly happy again because we're both in that place where we will do pretty much anything to make each other happy and we want each other forever.

He told me a while back when I was feeling bad, "You can assume some things too: that you are part of my life and future". And it's very understood now.

I don't know exactly how things are going to work out in the near future, but I know that I'm going to end up in a little house with him sometime soon. I'm going to get a sewing machine and make him a quilt and jellies and cook good foods and he's going to work on his cars in the garage and build things out of wood and fix the house.

He makes me so excited for the future. I'm so lucky.

I like Tuesdays a lot. I like having him in my house and doing things for him. Domesticity appeals more to me than most people know. More than I know, sometimes.

On Sunday we drove toward home on a two-lane highway and sang along together to Johnny Cash songs.

It was perfect.

This Friday we packed up and drove to the coast. We stayed at his grandparents' Morro Bay house and it was so so nice.

We drove around, watched movies, watched tv, ate doughnuts, talked about our families, walked by the wharf, looked at Morro Rock, ate seafood, embarrassed ourselves, and had such a good time together.

It was beautiful, after so many days of feeling like a sack of crap, to be in his presence and just see how much he cares for me, watch him make me breakfast and sundaes and feel his arms around me.

I'm so happy with him. It was such a good weekend.

Things are kinda sucking. Still no real job leads. Also I can't even afford to buy a stick of deodorant. It is quite humbling to, as an adult, have to ask your mother to buy you deodorant. Trust me.

So it's not really any big things, but just these little ones getting to the center of pride in me and making me feel like shit.

I can't afford gas to go anywhere, really, so basically everything I do is controlled by my parents. Plus they really are being strict with a 10pm curfew. (Yes, I really am 22.)

Three-week gaps are required between weekend stays at his house. And I don't even have the right to fight for any additional rights, because I'm just a moocher in their house and I don't contribute in any way.

I'm sick of being such a sack.

Not having a job or money is really starting to affect me. I mean, internally. I am constantly doubting my worth these days. And that's affecting our relationship, of course.

I wonder how he can like a jobless, penniless loser like me. And then I think that maybe he doesn't like me as much anymore. So it starts getting to me and then the next time something is said I take it in the worst way, of course, away from joke-land and into scary-land, so that eventually I feel like the crappiest thing that doesn't deserve love, no way.

But he talks to me and he is so sure about everything and so emphatic about how I need to never worry that it brings me back to safety.

I still don't know how to stop the whole thing from happening in the first place. Hopefully it's just a transitory thing and it'll pass once I feel like a normal person again.

Yesterday was not very good. I pretty much bombed the only interview I've been given for all the state jobs I've been applying for since November. It was not good.

I cried at him for a long time. He doesn't say much but he kind of just holds me and keeps me steady in the world. His touch would sometimes make me cry harder, because I would remember all I'd potentially lost by failing at that interview: moving out and into a little cute house with him.

I think I'm going to start looking lower. Work my way up from the bottom. Because nobody seems to care when I came from six months ago. Harvard doesn't matter to anybody here.

Time evaporates like rubbing alcohol when we're together. It seems like all we were able to do tonight was have dinner and watch a movie. I want so much more time.

Somehow I've gotten to thinking that this interview I have on Thursday might determine if I can go live with him relatively soon. It might be true, but it's almost not fair. If only my future happiness didn't depend on me acing something I am so bad at.

Challenge!

It felt like it had been so long since I'd seen him. We caught up on all of our touching and cuddling, then slept. We woke up to try to catch a movie, but made it there too late and also there was a line so we just went back to his house and watched tv. It was such a comfortable day of nothingness. I miss him all the time.

I was away for three days that I normally wouldn't have seen him anyway, so it doesn't really make sense that I am so especially desperate to see him again but I am.

Everything else pales in comparison to him.

He invited people over to his house for a New Year's shenanigan, so he went all out. He steam-cleaned the carpet, did all the dishes, bought snacks and drinks, cleared the table, cleaned the restroom, and made it all squeaky-clean. I can't really describe the feeling I get inside of me when he does stuff like that, but it's pretty great. I get all proud of him and feel so lucky to have him and I just want to squeeze him forever.

Some people flaked, but the evening was still quite a success. I met his other sister and his nephews, we saw Superbad, danced funny dances, got drunk together, and had a grand ol' time.

Today we just lied in bed, watched Matlock, The Office, and Office Space, and enjoyed each other's company. There was a thing that happened when we were out looking for a place to eat--at first it bothered me, but it passed quickly and I thought, If this is the most worrisome thing that has ever come up, we're doing alright and I loved him even more after that, because I think I've seen all the parts of him now. At the restaurant, I started talking about my grandmother to him. I was breaking apart right there in the booth. We left quickly and drove home; him squeezing my thigh the entire time as I sobbed through intersections. When we got inside the house, we just hugged on the couch until all the tears were out of me.

I gave him a massage to help his backache and then we talked a lot just holding each other. I told him how going down to L.A. kind of scares me now, just because I don't want to be so far from him. I told him how we're syncing up and he thought it was cute. We decided to take better care of ourselves together; eat better and exercise. We decided to go to sleep earlier together, too. The best part of all this is that these resolutions are not birthed in vanity--thought it does sneak in, of course (I want to buy cute clothes and look good for him eventually)--we mostly want to be healthy so we'll live longer and have more time on this earth to spend with each other. (The downside of not believing in god is that we don't have the thought of an afterlife to comfort ourselves with. Sometimes I'm briefly jealous of the people who do have that.)

I feel so perfect in his arms that I almost blurted out today, "When can we live together?" I stopped myself in time. It's going to be a while, I know. He knows too. The sad fact hurts my insides, because every thread of me just wants to make a home with him. I want to buy a bathroom rug and a nightstand lamp and start making the quilt he wants. I want to buy a couple of cookbooks and learn to make meatloaf just for him. I want to steam vegetables and wake up in his arms, with that overwhelming feeling of perfect safety in my ribs. I want to do everything in my power to make him happy, and have time to slowly savor the millions of things he does to make me happy. I want to be able to think this thought every night:
I have the love of my life in my arms. He's all mine forever.

It seems completely ridiculous that we've only been together for a month and a half. It sounds like such a silly amount of time for all that has happened. It's been the best month and a half; the most satisfying month and a half. In that short time, my soul has found its counterpart and he has become my favorite person in the world. It's the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me. The only fear I have now is that it's going to be snatched away from me.

We were in line at a drive-thru last night when we were talking about ice cream and I mentioned that he had chocolate syrup. "Where?" he asked, and this just came out of me: "At home."

It was weird: It's not my house; it's his house and I only visit sometimes. Immediately after it came out of my mouth I was surprised at myself and kind of embarrassed. I felt like one of those people who puts their feet on your coffee table after you've known them for 20 minutes.

But after it came out of my mouth we looked at each other, and it was just fine. I think we both liked it, really. It gave us this taste of what things will be like when we actually do live together. When we live together I'll be telling him what we have at home all the time. We're going to have a home together someday. It's going to be so great. I'm already excited.

Anytime I can possibly think about moving into a little house with him, I do. It sneaks in...no, it's always there, hanging out in my brain and waiting to jump up and down. I'm so perfectly happy when I'm with him that not being with him doesn't make much sense anymore. It seems silly, really, to still be living so far from him even when I know he's the man I'm going to marry and live with forever.

How silly.

Last night we were talking about this valley and how bad it is really, when something came up. He told me he'll probably be laid off in about four months. I think I asked him what he would do, and he said he'd probably have to move somewhere. Concerned, I asked him where and he said, "Anywhere I can find a job."

It scared me a lot. So today I sent him a message. I told him the idea of him moving away from me had frightened me. He replied, "I wouldn't go far without you," ... "How could I?" and the sweetness of it made me cry. I feel so much better.

All that sadness inside of him comes out sometimes. He's ashamed of it, I think, so he doesn't tell me why he's sad. I'm getting better at not thinking everything is my fault, but it's still something I have to try at, so I'm right there trying to stay calm and also help him but it's hard, you know, when I don't know why he's sad. The only things I know without a doubt that would help are hugs and kisses, but it doesn't help to know that when he's in that city and I'm in this little town 40 miles away.

Maybe it was the holidays. Maybe it made him miss the family he never had. Maybe he was upset by the only family he does have.

I know it's wrong and dumb but I can't help but think that if I'd only done my job better he wouldn't be sad. And since his heart is like an extension of mine now, it's kind of a selfish concern too. Isn't that funny?

But these things are like the patches of fog on the 99. You drive normally until suddenly you can't see more than 30 feet ahead of you and you have to slow down a lot. You drive in this scary mystery until you can see again. But then you can see again, and the foggy patch seems a vague dream.

...

He came over yesterday afternoon. He arrived with roses and made my heart melt a little. He liked the presents I bought/made him: a circular saw wall clock that says "Rugged" on it, a frame with a picture of us in it, and a black/grey Nyquil cozy that I knit over the course of too many days. I gave him Mexican Christmas food: tamales, buñuelos, and atole. (He called the atole a chocolate corn drink and it was funny because it was true.)

We watched The Departed, hung out, decided to go to his house for a bit and then go see a movie. At his house he gave me my presents: a cute, thick, picture book on penguins (because I tell him all the time that he's my penguin) and a gift certificate. He did pretty well for not having gotten any help from me. I spent a lot of time last night looking at my penguin book before bed. He is the best penguin. I'm sure.

I want him near me all the time, so I can keep him safe from the sadness. And for more selfish reasons too; because being with him fills my heart to brimming. It aches when my logical brain comes around to tell me that it's going to be quite some time before I can shed these complications and go live with him like I ought to. Be with him in our little house like we should be. Start the rest of our simple lives.

I still can't stop being mad at my dad. And he isn't really one to help things along. It's all up to me and I'm having such a hard time just talking to him or looking him in the eye for longer than half a second.

This sucks. I just want to get over this so that I can enjoy watching him open the awesome presents I got him tomorrow. I just know he's gonna love them.

Fight with the parents today. My dad kind of let it out that he thinks I'm selfish and I don't do things for people. I cried about it a lot, but now I'm just accepting it as one of those things. Just one of those things my dad said one time that made me really sad.

It's stuff like this that makes me think I've gotta go. Not in the brash, I-must-leave-this-house-now kind of way, but in a rational way. In a smart way that knows for a fact that when I am not living with them, I get along so much better with my parents. Both ways. They don't have to deal with my bullshit and I don't have to follow all these crazy rules. And we all appreciate each other and treasure the time we do get to spend together.

I don't need to move to Alaska or anything, just out. As soon as I can reasonably do so.

We're syncing up. He calls me at just the right moments. I finish my shopping right on time to meet him. We both drift to sleep on the couch at the end of Blues Brothers.

Last night while we were warming up under a blanket on his couch, he sighed deeply. I asked, "Are you okay?" and he said, "Excellent," and it made me fill up with contentment.

My boyfriend spends his spare time on the internet looking at houses he wants to buy and fix up. He shows me the houses and we get all giddy about them together and talk about how great they are and what we could do to make them our dream homes.

I really just want to hurry up and get to the part where we have our little house. Because that'll put an end to me sitting here and aching to be with him. At the very least.

I made Chocolate Rice Krispie treats for him. We watched Blood Diamond with my parents. He poked fun at me and I called him a horrible, horrible man.

Mostly we were just at home with each other.

It was the best.

There's this thing that always makes me love him more: Sometimes he just looks at me for a while, all intense, and then he smiles and sighs like he's never been more content in the world. It's so nice. He makes me feel so great.

On Friday I promised him that for all the bullshit he has to handle on my account, there will be lots more good stuff, that the good stuff will outweigh the bullshit. I just felt like I should write that down and make sure I keep my promise. To keep myself honest.

My pajamas smell like his house and it makes me really really wish I could be there right now.

There was a thing last night. It was the most ridiculous thing.

It boiled down to this: My parents are crazy, and they made something very simple turn very complicated, just because they are crazy. My parents upset me, then him, and then we were both upset. Things they said planted fear in my heart and that made me cry a lot.

Last night was our one-month mark, too, so it was doubly upsetting.

At one point after he called me I was sobbing over the phone about him not calling me. He was kind enough to point out the irony. I think I have the unique ability to take ridiculous to a completely new level.

But anyway, he calmed me down, he said he wasn't going to break up with me because of my crazy parents, he made me laugh again, and I thanked him for being the best penguin. We're okay.

We're going to have a lovely weekend together. We're going driving. He's going to get me the cheesecake I got a craving for and a candied apple. We're going to watch Caddyshack and Dirty Work and laugh and laugh. I have the best penguin.

Last night my sister came over with her man and my parents were talking to him about his intentions and everything. It was all very Serious Business. But anyway, it got my parents to talking and thinking about marriage. They told me some pretty surprising things about their own marriage. So I got to thinking. Of course.

I'm not in a rush or anything. It might not happen for a while and that's really fine with me. It seems a borderline silly thing anyway; it's something I'm not quite proud of wanting, even.

I mentioned all of this to him though, which of course got him thinking. He looked up "Mexican Wedding Traditions" and asked me if he needed to send his matchmaker over to my house. We laughed about it a bit but then some actual questions arose. How much do I think is reasonable to spend on a dress? How many people would I need to invite to our wedding?

He ended up getting kind of nervous. Not at the prospect of marrying me, but at the prospect of meeting all the people I would invite. I promised to keep the number small, but still. A wedding is a Social Event and there's no escaping that fact. But I'm sure we can work through our nerves when the time comes.

I should mention to him sometime that even though we're both absolutely sure we're gonna get married, I'd still like him to propose sometime before we actually do. A girl needs to be proposed to, I think.

At least this girl does.

"I really like you with your glasses off. And that's weird...because usually I like girls with glasses."

I'm not sure on where I stand exactly on the subject of me looking better with or without glasses, but: It was pretty great to know that the man I love likes me even more with less accoutrements. If I was some day robbed of all my material possessions, it would be just fine. Just freakin' fine.

I startled him with my enthusiasm at the front door last night. I brought him to the kitchen and we chatted as I made the egg nog french toast. There was a banana topping too. It turned out pretty well, actually. I'm not as inept at cooking as everybody assumes I am.

I showed him a photobook, we watched Futurama, I tried to help his backache, we talked and existed blissfully together. I probably shouldn't have asked him between kisses to not get cancer though. That was not necessary...also kind of a mood killer. And he can't do anything about cancer anyway.

We've been talking about a little house more and more. It's such a nice thing to think about.

"I wish we could just fast-forward to the part where we have our little house."

"Why did you send me a message that first time?"
"That's a good question, because I didn't do that very often. What was it...? I don't know, I just get feelings about people, you know?"
"Yeah."

The world is complicated, I know. But we aren't. We're simple people who have found each other and really couldn't be happier.

Today he emailed me this, just this, without explanation:

"I believed that our life together would be endlessly happy and untroubled. I looked forward, not to foreign tours or fashionable society or display, but to a quite different scene-a quiet family life in the country, with constant self-sacrifice, constant mutual love, and constant recognition in all things of the kind hand of providence." ~Tolstoy

And it's kind of just absolutely perfect. We are both simple people. We've got simple needs and we satisfy them completely for each other. We want to live in a little house together. I want to watch him build things with his tools and fix cars. I think he'd like it if I mended his clothes and baked cookies. We want to watch movies together and go on roadtrips around the country, staying in little hotel rooms. That's pretty much all we want. We will be so happy.

(We've paired up, like penguins, and at this point, the things I worry about are the huge-and-completely-out-of-our-control things like cancer and car accidents. I'm so afraid of tragedy. Stupid, I know.)

"Don't leave me. I don't want you to leave me."
"I'm not gonna leave you."

"This better not be some shenanigan."
"It's not a shenanigan. It's real. You deserve it now: to be happy."

"I'm sorry I cried...I'm such a weirdo."
"That's the number one reason why I like you."

"That was so so good."
"You haven't seen nothin' yet. It's gonna get better."

"Today was so great."
"It always is."
"That's true."

In the middle of another glorious day with him, I burst into tears.

We were in bed, just existing together, and I was looking at him, thinking about how special he is, how happy I was, and I kind of started sobbing.
"Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay?"
"...yeah...I'm just...so...happy...."

Then I started laughing at how ridiculous I am but I was still crying a little. It was funny.

"I'm sorry I cried...it's just...I think I overflowed. I just got so happy I overflowed."

After I proposed that we should drive up to the mountains to see some snow this winter, and we talked about what a nice drive it would be and how we both want to see all of California because it's the best state ever and we should visit some of its ghost towns, he said this:

"I think I love you more every time I talk to you."

(I feel the same way. My heart swelled up when he mentioned the ghost towns and I realized we're both freaks who like empty places, not having to deal with people, and cozy, comfortable, simple homes. We're going to be very happy together. We're on the exact same wavelength for weirdos. And I couldn't be more glad about it.)

(When I cry, he starts to panic and cry too. So I've finally found a reason to control my tears. After all these years.)

After we had calmed each other down last night, we started talking about roadtrips we want to take. We're definitely going to Oregon sometime, maybe on a train, to see Eugene and all the places he used to live. I want to go to Arizona, and he wants to visit Texas, and his sister lives in New Mexico, so we're definitely going to have a Southwest Adventure sometime. He's also got family in Louisiana, so we can see that too.

I'm already so excited about the prospect. I love driving with him. We listen to good music, he sings, and we talk. He puts his hand on my leg and everything is perfect.

I know I don't have a job or money or any of that stuff, but dammit, everything seems perfect. This love I've got overflows into my other life cubbies and makes everything better.

It's just beautiful.

Things happen because I'm me. I tell him the story about when my friend kissed me while drunk at a party, the friend I'd had a huge crush on two years before, and the next day another friend explained it away like this: "Oh yeah...he must have been so drunk." I remember this and the little demons inside of me start working away at me with their tiny pickaxes. They won't let me just be and enjoy this amazing guy I've got who loves me so much just the way I am and thinks I'm beautiful. This guy who's nuts about me just like I'm nuts about him.

So things happen and I end up crying, of course, and feeling like he deserves so much better than me. Like he should have a pretty girl. He should have a pretty girl, not this bottom-shelf consolation prize.

But he talks to me like he does, full of sincerity and trueness. He talks at me honestly, from the center of his heart, with an intensity that startles me a little, just enough to push me back into that place where I can believe that he thinks I'm amazing just the way I am right at this second.

I end up laughing through my tears on the phone:
"It's so funny. I never thought I'd find someone who would put up with all my shit. Oh my god."
"Yeah! I never thought I'd find someone who not only puts up with all my shit, but finds it endearing too."
"Ohhhhhh...I love you so much."
"I love you too."

I worry out loud to him about silly things like being dumped for an internet threesome.

He worries deep down, almost secretly. Because when he reassures me, he says, "You don't have to worry about me leaving," I can hear the unintentional, almost imperceptible emphasis on the word "me". I wish I could wash that worry away. I start resigning myself to the impossibility of it sometimes, but then I think, "Time fixes things."

I hope, in time, I can stop creating phantoms to be afraid of. And I hope he'll stop being afraid that I'll get sick of him.

This is going to last.

(Sometimes it's so nice that it makes me cry.)

We've got plans for Memorial Day.

Yeah.

:D

"I had started to think that it wasn't real; that it didn't really exist like this. I didn't know it could be this good. I keep thinking that this is the kind of thing people write sonnets about. I kind of wish I knew how to write sonnets or poetry of any kind."
"I know exactly what you mean."

"I thought I was doomed to roam the earth always loving people more than they loved me."
"Me too."

"How nice that the two weirdos found each other."
(repeated often)

We had a weekend of just us. It was pretty damn great.

This thing happened, where we were each as vulnerable as newborns, in a raw emotional state, and we survived together. We held each other in the darkness of early morning, talked, touched, and worked through the tears. The next time we woke up, everything was okay. And I loved him more, just for caring so much.

He didn't get scared when I told him that I thought I was going to marry him. He wants to live in a little house with me too. And we want to take care of each other.

We're already kind of inseparable. At least as much as two people who live 41 miles from each other can be. When he's at work, we text message. When he gets home we chat online. At night we call each other before bed.

And I'm kind of jumping out of my skin because: Tomorrow I am waking up early and driving to his house; we are going to hang out, catch up, and, best of all: I have an overnight pass.

I get to wake up next to him Sunday morning. I could not be happier.

"Would you protect me from spiders?"
"Yeah. I would love to."

I cried in his arms tonight for silly thoughts bred by my insecurities. He held me and washed them all away. We decided together that everything is going to be alright; that we are going to be just fine because we trust each other, we love each other. We admitted that we really see a future together and we have no desire to explore any other people. We told each other how special we are and why this is so great. We believe. Together.

I'm so glad that other guy didn't like me. This is so much better. This is the kind of thing that people write sonnets about, the kind of thing that makes everything else not matter.

I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

I got a lecture this morning because I came home at midnight last night. But it didn't matter much, because I'd had just about the best time ever at his house.

So I just told my parents a bunch of things about him this morning. That he's been working and on his own since he was 15. That he builds things. That he's going to fix up a '43 pickup. That he has a waffle maker. That he's got lots of cool tools and a real house. They think he sounds like a good guy, but they both still told me to be careful.

I appreciate that they care, but I feel absolutely no need to be careful.

I feel like now that I've finally stopped looking desperately for somebody to take care of me, I've actually found somebody who wants to do it not because I need it, but just because. I want to take care of him too. Even though we're both perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves.

If I had to define love right now I'd do it like this:
Love is trusting your soul completely in the hands of another, even when you could hold it yourself forever.

"...It's like I can feel your soul,"
"--Is it jagged?"
"No, it's just beautiful. And it's old friends with my soul."

He then breathed deep and rested his head in my chest. This level of comfort we feel is something I'm so lucky to have. He is such an amazing guy. He makes me so happy. Every second in his presence is like gold.

I can't believe my luck.

All of this seems too good to be true. I'm kind of afraid that some tragedy of Jane Eyre proportions is going to befall us. Every time he drives away, my heart constricts when it gets started thinking about the awful possibilities of the highway. Sometimes when I'm alone in my thoughts I fear that it's not real, that I'm imagining this beautiful thing. But no, I've got to stop thinking that way. Because there's a little part of me in the corner saying, "You guys deserve it now. You deserve to be happy." And maybe that's what I should be listening to.

All we did last night for close to three hours was look into each other's eyes and talk and kiss. That's it. But it was so amazing, every minute of it.

I could float right now.

I feel safe like a baby in his arms. Comfortable and without a worry in the world. Like everything is perfect and will always be perfect.

He said, "I love you, Georgina," and it wasn't a surprise; I inhaled and said, "I love you too," and it was true. I told him it was scary--not that I love him--but how quickly it's all happening, that I hope I'm not insane--am I insane? He doesn't think so. We're not insane. There's just this connection I can't explain too well with words. It's like our souls are old friends or something. We trust each other so much. We get along so effortlessly, with such pure joy. It's such a comfort--every second of being with him.

He makes me so happy. I don't think I've ever felt this way before. I want to be near him all the time. He's got such a beautiful soul. Es un tesoro.

He's coming to dinner tomorrow! He's going to meet everybody and they're going to meet him! I'm going to show him my book and the photos on my wall! I'm gonna get him to play Guitar Hero!

I am so freaking excited.

He makes me laugh so much. He's made me smile so much this past week. He's such a treasure.

I'm only afraid cursorily that people are going to think I'm stupid and crazy about this whole thing. That I jumped into the first boat that floated past. But it's not even like that. I can't explain how sincere his touch is, how comforting his eyes are, how nice it feels just to be near him. He's shown me so much of what's inside him, the scary parts, and all it does is make me feel closer to him, make me want to get closer to him. I showed him the scary parts inside of me and my voice didn't even shake when I did; my breath didn't waver.

On Friday I am going to bring him pumpkin cheesecake and I think he's going to have a mixtape for me in exchange. He's going to meet my brother. It's going to be a quick meeting, but I'm already all a-twitter about it. Just a hug and a kiss from him are already worth so much.

It's so nice to not be afraid.

We drove to this closed-for-the-night historic park that I remembered from when I was 10. We wandered about in the moonlight and eventually settled at a picnic table. We talked for so long. We shared secrets. We kissed. We confessed our fears. We admitted our faults. We embraced. We agreed to be each other's.

The way he looks into my eyes is so intense it almost hurts. But I hold his gaze, because it's true. He asked me last night in disbelief, "You really like me?" I do. He said he has trouble with compliments in either direction. I said, "Well...get over it," and told him he was dreamy.

His vulnerability constantly surprises me, even though I'm always aware of it. I want to protect him from everything bad and make sure he's never sad again. I want to hold him and reassure him every time he's haunted by a memory. I want to make everything better.

We're going to the coast for a weekend sometime soon. I'm going to invite him over to my house so he can meet my parents.

I constantly can't wait to see him again.

I can't get it out of my mind: the way he smiles at me. It's like the tip of an iceberg somehow, when his eyes are locked on mine and that smile sweeps across his lips. He teases me. I tickle him. We laugh and I want to hold him forever. It's all I can think about.

He worried about me. :)

Last night we were sitting on his bed, hugging and listening to a Patsy Cline record. I said quietly, because it was in my head, begging to come out and be real, "I like you." He replied, "I like you too," and gave me a squeeze.

(There's a sadness about him that makes my heart ache sometimes, like when he talks about his mom, but also makes him more sincere, more worthy of my affection. He deserves it now.)

Yesterday we spent 12 hours together. He:

Offered to make me eggs and waffles for lunch.

Was nervous about sitting next to me.

Said he thought I was very cute.

Told me lots of funny stories.

Put our fast food lunch on plates and brought out a tv tray for me.

Played with Maura, the chihuahua, to hilarious effect.

Said he could teach me to drive stick sometime.

Said we should drive to the central coast sometime.

Sang to me.

Said he would learn to play a country song on guitar if I would sing the lyrics with him.

Made me feel pretty, worthwhile, and comfortable.

I:

Almost fell asleep in his arms.

Told him I would knit him a NyQuil cozy.

Went through his record collection, making notes of things I wanted to listen to.

Had a chihuahua sleep on me.

Initiated our first kiss.

Laughed at his Pac-Man pillowcase because the ghosts were all wearing orange gloves.

Teased him about not being normal.

Didn't want to let go of him.

And of all these things, nothing is bothersome because we're both right there together. I can feel the warm glow of feelings being reciprocated coming from him. I want to go to the Central Coast with him and sing while he plays a song on guitar. I want to watch him build his bookcases and hear all his records. I want to show him photobooks and talk about music with him. And I'm not terrified that this is going to hurt. It's not the scariest thing ever. It's just nice. That's how these things are supposed to feel. Just nice.

This tender simplicity might be more my style. Attached to him, it seems so much nicer than that other thing. There is less uncertainty, more sincerity. I'm not doubting as much. I'm smiling a lot. I'm being hopeful and not terrified that it's foolish. He's such a sweet guy.

I'm watering a little plant and putting it in the sun. It's nice.

Maybe this is the kind of thing you have to incubate inside of you secretly. Because if you let it out, it might die. You don't want it to die.

Slow&steady.

He cried at the movie. I was close to crying, it was so sad, but I held it in because I'm kind of unnerved by how many people in the world I have cried at. But he actually cried and got sad and it was kind of beautiful.

We were both a little nervous, I think, but that hug at the end was so nice. He's so tender once you get past the everything else. Totally Roast Beef.

The mirror in the restroom is huge and unavoidable. Those pink damaged spots aren't going to go away. You know that. They just turn a little darker. They earn their patina.

And you realize in there that the accumulation makes them so much more difficult to explain. The scratching method is so much more damaging than the knife. But the knife too, has its disadvantages. You thought those would be easier to hide, but now that your skin is shifting they're becoming more noticeable somehow, calling attention to themselves when you go sleeveless around the house. So you can't do that anymore. Those little white lines feel red-hot-blaring amidst the banality of home.

You realize you're probably the only one who sees them, but they are so loud. They yell at you of your addiction. Of the addiction you're always going to be fighting.

I've always tried to avoid hate. It's not an emotion I'm okay with. It's so strong and...final. Like the death penalty. But anyway, tonight I'm thinking about it. Like how easy it is. If I could just hate somebody, hate them away. Death penalty to any other feelings I have for them in my heart. That would be so easy. Maybe I could forget people too. I know the easy way isn't always the best way, but how tempting it would be. Memory is such a pesky uncontrollable, unfair thing. I wish my brain was more like a house that I could clean every spring. Just get rid of memories you don't need anymore. But I know we're made by our past. So that wouldn't work very well. But it's nice to imagine throwing out memories. I think I'll use that image when I go to sleep tonight. To lull myself.

I think I may have found Roast Beef. He's adorable but has kind of a gruff exterior that is oddly alluring. He's weird and funny in a very understated almost unintentional way. A little damaged too, and I know we all are but he's got a really rough past that I respect him for because not too many people escape that kind of stuff very well. He's 33, which doesn't bother me but I hope isn't too weird in terms of having stuff to talk about. We're going to see a movie tomorrow and I'm trying so hard to keep my emotions in check with this one. Calming the fuck down. Yes yes stay calm. You're just trying people out and trying to make friends. That's it.

The window is open and my toes are really cold. Regulating the temperature in my room is really difficult when I have to open and close the window to do it.

I'm starting a new photo project. I'm blogging every photo I take with my phone. It's a weird to have so little control: my phone handles colors and lights a little strangely, and I can't delete any photos and skip them. It makes me a little uncomfortable, to be honest, but I'd like to take photos again, even if it's just on my phone.

I hope I can go see a movie with this guy in Visalia soon. He seems cool. And I'm starved for face-to-face human interaction you know.

You know.

I wanted so bad to get over that dude and now that I am over that dude? I'm kind of just back in that crappy place where I don't talk much to anybody. And I don't even want very much of anything from anybody. I just wanna watch movies with whoever will talk to me intelligently or amusingly for a bit.

Balls.

I don't belong in this house anymore. I am too old and ornery to be told what to do but too powerless to get out and fend for myself out there in the big world. This house is for taking care of grandchildren now.

I'm my family's appendix. And I think I'm getting inflammed.

Sometimes you get stuck in your memories. Because you can edit them however you like, to make your own manufactured version of a reality.

You remember what it was like to have somebody think you attractive. You remember what it was like to have a warm body next to you all night, fleshy and comforting. You remember trusting and loving.

How nice that was.

I am nervous about this new thing. There is some danger in it, but I think that's what attracts me. I am secretly attracted to danger. I don't hope that something will go wrong, but I kind of wonder how I would handle things if something does go wrong. Will I prove my mettle? It would be interesting to find out. Not that I want anything to go wrong, of course.

Of course.

All it took: I don't see him online today, so I think he blocked me.

And now? Freedom! This great release! Whatever! I don't need him! I am going to go out and make other friends who will be awesome! I will find somebody else to touch, who might actually appreciate me and reciprocate feelings. How exciting!

I am letting go of him. He hasn't wanted to talk to me in two weeks, even though I have reached out to him. I need to let go. And surprisingly, I'm not much worse for the wear. Maybe I can jump back into the ocean and see all the fish soon. At least look for some fish friends. I think I'll be ready soon.

Funny story: while I was waiting for House to start, I decided to catch up on the episodes of Ugly Betty and Grey's that I missed last week. So I did. And the stupid episode of Ugly Betty of course had to be almost entirely about not letting go of something just because you're scared of how you'll feel when it goes away. So I thought about how just being his friend was nice, and how I pushed that away because my pride commanded that I couldn't just be friends with somebody I liked. Anyway, tv kind of made me realize how foolish that was, right? So I spent about 20 minutes just staring at his screenname, trying to decide what to do.

I tried talking to him. But he didn't say anything. I don't feel as bad about this as you'd think. The way I see it, he was either not there or asleep OR he actually doesn't want to talk to me. I explained to him that if the latter is the case, he really should block me or something because I have now proven that I can't resist the temptation to talk to him. Even while sober!

So yeah, whatever. I kind of just wanted to hang out with him and his friends sometime. They were cool peeps. But if I am definitively not wanted even for that, then let us move on. I'm kind of a neat person. I'll make friends. Whatever.

He's right there. I can see him right there on the internet. He's not invisible, and I can clearly remember the last time we hadn't talked in so long and then he finally IMed me he said, "Why didn't you talk to me? ...If I hadn't wanted to talk to you you wouldn't have seen me, hun." So he's there. I can see him. I want to talk to him. The mouse pointer has hovered over his name repeatedly. I think it means something that I can see him. That he's letting me see him. He wouldn't let me see him if something in him didn't kinda want me to talk to him. But I don't know. My pride is stopping me. Because oh while I really really want to go hang out with him again, I know that if I talk to him, if I go crawling back and anything comes of it, even if it's just friendship, we will both always know that I am the puppy and he is the master. It will be there, grinning at me knowingly when I try to think that I am an independent woman.

But should I really allow my pride to turn away a friendship in these times when I am desperate for any human contact? I don't know which decision would be most foolish in this situation.

Today while we were driving back home on those long two-laned highways surrounded by groves, I thought about how babies die if they aren't touched. When do we grow out of that need? Maybe we don't. Maybe it remains inside of us, but we just learn to cope better.

I woke up this morning with an intense yearn for physical contact with another human. Unabashed, bare flesh-to-flesh contact. But there's nothing I can do about it. Touch is too often turned into something complicated and dirty: even by me.

I'm stuck somewhere between the simple baby's need to be touched or die and the animalistic, escapist need to be fucked that Christina Ricci's character in Black Snake Moan had. But the good thing is that I'm not going to die and I'm not going to fuck the first guy I see. So I'm just going to sit here and not do anything about it.

Everything seemed to go wrong today. I slept too much, spent two hours on the phone with HP support people, was told to be quiet for the millionth time, got a huge stomachache, and pined again for that guy who doesn't even like me.

But then I talked to Ro and she calmed me down with words of wisdom. It'll just take time. Everything just takes time.

In time there will be somebody else to pine over. Somebody else to touch. Somebody else to think of when I'm lonely. And with any luck, that somebody will like me too.

I started driving west at 6:30 am. The sun had just risen a little while before I got to the Bay Bridge. I really didn't expect it, but when I got to the bridge, the combination of a marvelous man-made wonder of architecture and the pure beauty of a subdued delicate pink sunrise made the most beautiful sight I'd seen in a while. I kind of held my breath, trying to take it all in and hold it there, because I immediately thought, "This. This is why being a human is great. Don't forget this. Don't."

I'd been avoiding my instant messaging programs. I didn't want the temptation of talking to him if he was there. But today I signed on looking for somebody else. And then he came on. I wasn't going to send him a message, but just seeing him there there brought all the blood to my face. I got so nervous.

Oh dear oh dear. I hope this trip up north flushes him out of my system. Flush flush.

This whole experience really is quite humbling. I think of myself as an intelligent, independent woman most of the time. I take pride in it. And here I find myself turned into a pile of sobbing mush over a guy. A guy who didn't even want my affection. A guy who thought he was making me feel better when he told me "looks didn't matter for shit" to him.

Where is my self-respect? Why can't I remember that I initiated that entire conversation and I was the one who cut it off, too?

Sometimes all of this is kind of funny.

[I can't stay away. This is like my home. I am comfortable here. The other place wasn't the same. I'm totally going to be the kind of old lady who has to be dragged out screaming from her flooded house. "Why should I have to leave my house?!? I don't want to leave, and it's my house, so leave me alone!"]

I have this darkish scar on my upper leg. It's particularly hard to hide during the summer, when I wear shorts all the time that occasionally ride up a little. A couple years ago, my brother, upon seeing it, asked what it was. "A scar," I said cooly. Instead of rolling his eyes and going the "Well, duh, Geo," route, he replied, "Oh cool. You're, like, Battle-Ravaged Geo." (After a Spider-Man action figure he has where Spidey's costume is ripped and he's bleeding and in generally bad shape after a fight.)

Sometimes that gives me comfort: thinking of myself as Battle-Ravaged Geo. Like if there's a perfectly good reason for it all.

(I've got two small, faint bruises on me, rapidly fading, that Brian incidentally made per my request last Saturday. (Roughness, of late, is very appealing.) Every time I see them, I ache. But thinking that they'll almost be gone completely makes me ache more.)

Done done done. In so many ways.

I can't not write anymore, so I'm just going someplace else.

I'll be fine. Don't you worry about me.

I don't cry very much anymore. I always thought I cried too much before, so I'm inclined to think this development is a good thing. But I don't know. There's something about a good, exhausting cry. The kind that grinds you down enough to let you sleep. The kind that drains enough feeling from you to let you unclench the sadness and give in to something else.

My sister tells me not to worry about it, but I don't think I've ever really taken advice from her to my benefit. I am going to worry about it; I don't really have a choice in the matter anyway. Sure, we were probably both tired, but I hung out at his place yesterday for an hour and a half or something and was totally just one of the dudes. He threw the word "friend" at me a couple of times, which might just be his way or he's easing me into that talk about not liking me liking me, but liking me as a friend. That sucks. That totally sucks. Because if he hadn't treated me like a dude I would've liked a hug and maybe a kiss yesterday. I know it wasn't a date and I kind of just asked to sit in his apartment before I drove home, but I was happy to see him anyway. He seems to have just let me hang out because of common courtesy, "What was I gonna do, turn you away?" Actual quote.

I thought I was a little charming, at least. I'd consoled myself last week, thinking, "Well, I'm not pretty, but at least I can be fun and talk intelligently about things and I know a lot about super geeky crap." I am starting to think maybe those things are not as important to him as I'd hoped. Maybe the more I reveal that I am very fond of zombie movies and loved Beast Wars and hate clothes shopping, the more I turn into a dude. Maybe he actually likes girls who act like girls.

I don't fucking know. I'm still going to ask him to see The Nightmare Before Christmas in 3D with me though. Because I think I like getting kicked in the ribs; I want him to actually tell me to my face that it's not going to work, so I can singe the wound and move the fuck on.

I think it was a success! I think it was!

We both talked a lot. It was so nice to learn all sorts of things about him and share all sorts of things about myself. Sometimes it was scary, like when he saw the scratch on my stomach and asked about it and wasn't satisfied when I brushed it off. He joked about needing "to weed out the crazies" and then I figured I had to tell him if he meant it, so I did: "Well, I actually am crazy..." He was very nice about it though, told me not to do that and made me feel better about the relapse--I hadn't done it in so long! Ugh! But he helped me realize I'll always be recovering, like a drug addict or an alcoholic, which is oddly calming; in any case, I don't think he's freaked out about it.

Dinner was really nice. We never really stopped talking and he made me laugh so much. He is such a funny guy. I think I told a couple of stories that made him laugh too. It was really nice to have such a long uninterrupted conversation with him. Yeah.

We hung out at his apartment with a couple of his best friends and it was truly fun. They talked to me about other friends of theirs, told me the backstories, and really made me feel welcome and a part of the group. They told me all about this horrible girl Brian used to have a thing with and how she turned around and started sleeping with his close friend/roommate. It was sad, and kind of explained Brian's current guardedness/hesitation in matters of romantic feeling. (Especially explained why last week he and his friend kept telling me adamantly that I'd better not fool around with his friends.) We all enjoyed The Big Lebowski together. He put his arm around me and played with my head. At my car, we hugged, kissed and he said it was fun and we would talk soon hopefully.

So yes, fuck being safe, I'm going to be happy about this. Maybe this will work yet. It's really nice.

Back to excitement. It sure is unfortunate that excitement, one of my favorite and easiest felt emotions is directly tied to disappointment, the worst of them all.

I decided to call John today even though I wasn't feeling that great; I risked not being entertaining because I so wanted the comfort of conversation with him. I am so glad I did. I let everything out and heard his voice try to guide me and told him about this guy and not being pretty and he did that thing he does where he doesn't say much but he calms me down anyway. I'm calmer now.

I feel ready for this thing tomorrow. I'm gonna be okay.

On my right hip I used my previously retired red soft-grip x-acto knife. It was hard to keep scoring the exact same line at that angle, so I ended up with lots of thin cuts right next to each other, the kind that kind of just bleed up once. I thought I was done, but it wasn't enough. As I tried to sleep I was starting to cry again in the dark, so I dug my middle finger into the flesh of my stomach and scratched until I felt wetness through the skin that was collecting underneath my fingernail. That calmed me down enough so that I could sleep. I didn't wake up at 4am tonight.

I wish it weren't so satisfying to punish myself. I wish something else gave me that calm. I wish I could duplicate in some other way the feeling of safety that looking in the morning light at what I did gives me.

And still, despite the benefits of last night, I feel fairly shitty. I'm scared about the date tomorrow because even if he doesn't cancel it, I'm almost sure I'm going to mess it up by either being stupid again or repulsing him. And then I'm scared that I have no business going out with somebody when I feel this crappy. But the loneliness does supercede everything else.

Why does it feel like nobody ever knows what being ugly is like? Why doesn't anybody know how much it hurts that my parents and my sister told me I'm not getting a job because everybody's looking for pretty, well-formed girls?

I just sat in the restroom for ten minutes, trying to think of what I could possibly do within reason to be prettier so I can get a fucking job. The only thing I could think of was vomit. And after that all I could think of was where the next cut/scratch would go, where I could put it so that even if I got undressed with him on Saturday it wouldn't be too obvious.

I hate being a woman. I am never going to be pretty, so now I guess I have to resign myself to being treated like shit; to not being offered jobs; to not expect niceness from anybody. I have to suffer the indignity of knowing that nobody I get naked with is ever going to be truly happy. I have to learn to not cry about this anymore or hope for anybody to lie to me.

(It's going to be on the side of my hip.)

I am so eagerly looking forward to going out with him on a real date on Saturday. But I am also being very careful to control my emotions and impulses. Meaning I'm super excited but can't let him know or else I'll freak him out because he already thinks I like him more than I should and that might mean I'm a little crazy.

So I'll just sit tight until Saturday and see how it goes. It could be a disaster. It could not be that great. It could.

Postponement somehow made way for doubt. I guess it's not that weird, actually. But I'm trying to fight it so hard. I don't want to think about this anymore. I just want the second millionth chance I take on this to happen already, and I'll deal with whatever comes after. I just want to get there so decisions can be made and things can be felt based on real facts and actions, not all the shit in my head that makes me crazy. So I'm recommending some more inaction. Some more "sit still and deal with shit when it happens". Okay.

He's sweet. He's fun. He's funny. He's cute. He's intelligent. He's good.

I do like him for him, not just for the attention. I got attention from other people and I still just wanted to talk to him the most. I wanted him to ask me to hang out, not anybody else.

He said, "Don't give up on me because I'm stupid," with such sincerity. The kisses to the top of my head were so tender. The concern during my panic attack was so real. The kisses goodnight were so sweet.

I know this has been such a mess for a long time. First he messed up, then I messed up, then we both messed up, then we both messed up again. But somehow I don't feel too stupid for trying. I feel something here that I don't want to give up on, something that might be worth working for. So there we go.

It's going to be slower this time, more deliberate. That might just be what we need.

Here I go again. Going to him and hoping he's going to want me for something more. Hoping that the physical turns into emotional. How much of a fool can I be?

A fool that gives into tiny rays of hope in her DNA. A fool that maybe needs to be beaten before she can come to reality.

Now, when I don't know what to do, instead of freaking out about it, I just kind of freeze and don't do anything instead. I'm not sure how long the freezing technique can be used, but I guess I'm going to find out. Maybe I'll eventually be forced into action. It's so hard to make a decision these days.

How how how to be a good person? Fuck.

Talked to John this morning about all the things in my life. Talking to him is always like finding a comfortable glove. Like I've always had that glove. It's very nice.

I never thought I'd be in a "friends with benefits" situation, but here I am. At present my feelings about this are keeping themselves balanced because they are so opposite of each other. I am 1) proud that I am able to do this while removing emotion from the situation and 2) kind of weirded out that I have a friend with benefits. I'm fine now. If I ever don't feel fine about it I'll stop and that'll be that. But right now I'm going to have fun. Screw my preconceived notions.

It's so strange to be so calm about life. I'm so calm these days. Just realizing that I'm going to be fine as long as I rely on, respect, and trust myself is so calming. I don't need anybody, you know? I could want, but I don't need anymore. It would be nice to have somebody to hug and kiss, but I don't need it. It's nice to talk to him, but I don't have to. I am not needy anymore. I'm independent and strong and fine and whatever happens I will be fine because I've gone through enough tough shit that I know I can survive a lot and be fine. I don't need a man to protect or complete me. I'll be just fine alone.

And I still get excited about things. I'm not suddenly made of stone. I'm excited to hopefully find a job soon. I'm excited to have him to hang out with maybe sometimes. I'm excited to hopefully gab with John soon. I'm excited to be putting myself out there in the world for employment and friendship and stuff. I'm excited to be growing into independence. I'm excited to be alive. And more truly me than I've ever felt.

How does life work? How is it possible that I just talked to somebody for three and a half hours who I thought I'd never talk to again? How did I just make plans to see him again when I just told somebody today how bummed out I was that he had lied to me?

I don't think he lied anymore. We talked so much of it out. It completely transformed in three and a half hours. How is that even possible? I'm kind of bewildered, but in a good way.

I hope it's not that I'm a damn fool. But maybe I need to relax and just see how things work themselves out without forcing anything or expecting too much. That seems normal enough.

I was complaining to my mother about how I felt horrible because of my period and she said something to the effect of, "Millions of women are experiencing it." Which is true. Which means I should really just shut my mouth and deal with it.

But then I got to thinking. How do so many women deal with physically feeling like complete shit a few days a month? 'Cause it sucks, dudes. Cramps and aches and not being able to sleep because you're in pain.

Sometimes I think women got a pretty raw deal. Especially when you bundle things like this with random internet douchebags asking how big your tits are and whether you like to suck cock and creepy drunk guys touching you while you walk down the street.

Okay, sure, it would be nice to have people to talk to and hang out with, but what you have right now isn't half bad. You're completely in control of every single aspect of your life. You decide everything. You decide what to do, what not to do, where to go, who to talk to, what to watch, what to buy, when to sleep. And you're not horrible at making decisions, either. You're just a little lazy, though admittedly less so these days than your natural inclination would normally insist on.

It's nice to be in complete and sole control. Right now you don't have to answer to anybody, save your parents since they provide your housing and food, but they're pretty hands-off even.

So take pleasure in this complete control of your body and all it's exposed to. Feel how your muscles ache good-naturedly after your morning run, delight in a piece of pumpkin pie and coffee for breakfast, enjoy spending the afternoon on a bed with a novel. Don't be ashamed of not leaving the house for days at a time--you have nobody to impress; you can do what you want.

All this control can help you on the way to being better. Think of it as a self-improvement vacation, not as unemployment. You're going to come out of this a better person, hopefully tougher, more independent, healthier, prettier, and smarter. And at the end of it you'll have a job and opportunities to make friends. You will be fine.

In the future, keep in mind that talking about your loneliness doesn't help any. In fact, you should probably avoid that topic altogether for the rest of your life and in all situations. Just chill, deal with it, move on. Toughen up, girl. Toughen up.

Usually I write down resolutions and fret about them and end up just crying some more and feeling silly about the whole thing. But since realizing last night that it was completely ridiculous to think any human could ever protect me from the world and deciding for the second time in my life that I'm completely alone and the only person I can count on, the only person who will ever want to protect me, I feel much better. It's like a new vow of self-sufficiency. I'm not going to search for a protector anymore. I'm not going to live, hoping always that I'll eventually prove myself good enough for somebody to want to protect. Nobody's ever going to protect me. I am all alone. There's nobody taking care of me except myself. So there we are. I think this is the first step of my toughening up.

I can only really truly count on myself--fucked up as I am. As scary as that is, there's a certain comfort in truth still.

There's a place where lovers go
To cry their troubles away.
And they call it,
Lonesome Town,
Where the broken hearts stay.

You can buy a dream or two
To last you all through the years.
And the only price you pay
Is a heart full of tears.

Goin' down to Lonesome Town,
Where the broken hearts stay.
Goin' down to Lonesome Town,
To cry my troubles away.

In the town of broken dreams,
The streets are filled with regret.
Maybe down in
Lonesome Town,
I can learn to forget.
Maybe down in
Lonesome Town,
I can learn to forget.
Lonesome Town.

Tonight, during a commercial break while I was watching Without a Trace, I broke down in tears. This new idea had been brewing in my brain the two hours previous: I don't actually see myself. Maybe I actually have no idea what I really look like, and act like. Maybe this "I'm a good person!" thing I've been trying to convince myself of is totally wrong, maybe I'm not--maybe I am truly not good enough to be loved. Maybe I do lots of things I'm not conscious of or I ignore that are actually horrible. Maybe I really do look that bad.

I don't know what the truth is, maybe I've never known. But I know it's not good when I start thinking that throwing up after eating might be a good idea, and maybe there's a good place to discreetly cut myself that I haven't thought of yet.

(And I'm crying now again because I know, I know, I know, that all these thoughts are bad and only make everything harder; that truly nobody will ever get close to me if I continue doubting everything and being disgusted with myself. I know. I just don't know how to stop. It's a cycle of idiocy that my expensive education can't help me with. It's a result of circumstances in my past that I feel I had no control over. And all that leaves me is fucked.)

But hopefully this is just the worst coming out for some air; something I should pay no mind. I will sleep and pretend it away tomorrow.

Reading a romance novel can't be a good idea.

It reminds me of kisses and passion and touches that I can't have, that nobody wants to give a girl like me. I'd like to give them to others, but must keep that to myself, because I don't want to be used and then thrown away like I've been told people can do and actually might have been already. I don't want to date around; I just want to find the person I'm going to wake up with twenty years from now. I just want to find the guy who wants to hold me, who will think I'm pretty and be excited about my art. The guy I can talk to for hours about anything at all; the guy with kindness in his soul and wit in his speech; the guy who makes life brighter, less scary, more safe.

But if it's so hard, maybe I need to stop looking. Quit now, before it hurts more. Toughen up. To quote Jane Eyre, "Be too self-respecting to lavish the love of the whole heart, soul, and strength, where such a gift is not wanted and would be despised."

I wish so badly that I wasn't such a weirdo. I'm such a weirdo. It'd be fine, really, if it didn't make getting close to people so difficult.

I'm overly emotional, needy, and sensitive. I think about sex way too much to be a decent girl. I have baggage from way back when that shows up still, and shakes me. I am short, squat, and generally oddly shaped. I am terrified of speaking to strangers. I am not good at being a woman. I am tons of awkward wrapped in a tortilla of anxiety. I am not satisfied by superficial physical connections. I fall in love too easily. I overly romanticize everything. I need to be reassured too much. I'm too intellectual to seriously get along with anybody who isn't.

Too many problems without much to reward people with if they actually get past all that. Blegh.

But that's what's good about being human, right? We're smart enough to change, if we need to.

Looking for a job is strange. You've got to evaluate your worth, guess what kind of work would make you happy (or at least not painfully unhappy), look for positions that will provide you with health insurance, and figure out how to best write a letter to somebody who is able to hire you. It's a lot. I find myself alternately excited by the prospect of gainful employment and completely frustrated/confounded by what it takes to get to a respectable job.

I do have enough to think about. I'm going to calm down, finish Jane Eyre, take photos, and level up my Pokemon.

It broke my heart to say goodbye to John. I had this speech planned in my head; I was going to tell him that somehow he turned into one of my top people, and that maybe it's weird or whatever but I really have a good time everytime we talk, everytime we share time together, and that even if he didn't write back to me, he should know that I just want him to be happy, and anything I can do to help make that happen I will do. But instead, he surprised me by seeming to hold back tears and saying he would miss me too. I whimpered "no" when he said he should go, and I told him if he came to visit me I would make him a pie.

Not what I planned, but better, because I didn't have to resign myself to never seeing him or talking to him again. There's hope for both now. And that's really nice. Maybe he'll invite me to his wedding someday.

I didn't just lose one of my best friends. I'll probably call him next week and we'll chat about my job search and our photo projects. That's so great.

I was awake for an entire two hours before the alarm went off this morning. It was because I'm nervous about leaving this place. I worry about what's going to happen to me when I get home. I worry that I'll find myself turning 65 tomorrow; I'll find the book of my photos in an old dusty box, and I'll say, "Oh yes...I used to be a photographer...back in college...."

I want to find a job, meet people, go places, have money, and be happy. All of those things are difficult.

It's hard to be a human being.

The weather here is lovely. Mother tells me it's gotten really nice back home too. Of course.

I'd forgotten how nice it is to actually be with people and enjoy their company. Today for no reason at all John and I had an hour-long conversation about religion. It was wonderful. Then he treated me to lunch. That was my third free lunch since I got here. People are too nice to me. At lunch we talked about family and relationships and jobs. It was so nice to have a real person to talk to about anything at all; a person who likes me and is under no obligation whatsoever to be nice to me but is anyway.

Being in Boston makes me feel like I'm worth more. I'm working on photos and they're worth something, so maybe I'm worth something too. It makes sense in my head.

The challenge will be to feel this good once I get back home. The challenge is not to crash from this height. That's always the challenge.

I remember what it feels like to wake up in the arms of somebody you love. I don't think it's crazy to want that feeling again. But it's not going to happen if I keep scaring away guys that I like with my freakouts. I need to calm down.

Boston brings back so many memories. I am a melancholic kid.

He knew I was "eager to please". He said it. That should have been a sign, but I ignored it because I didn't want it to be a sign. But it seems that the most important thing I need people to know about me is also the most dangerous: Treat me well and I will do anything in my power to make you happy; I just need to be made feel special.

But that would only come off as "I'm a loser! I need somebody to love me, or at least pretend to! Come take advantage of this!" So maybe now I should try what my sister suggested, in earnest: to be like a guy and not give a shit. Yeah...who am I kidding? That goes against the will of every one of my fibers. I'm always going to give a shit. Too much. And that's always going to be the problem. I'm going to love too much and never get enough in return.

Maybe losing more weight will help.

Screwed up. Possible reasons:

Maybe I don't know what I want.

Maybe I'm too much of a weirdo to date.

Maybe I'm more work that I'm worth.

Maybe I'm a drama queen.

Maybe I'm too ugly.

Maybe I need to stop being a crazy bitch.

How do I make sure I don't mess this up? He told me he was afraid of screwing things up with me and I reassured him, but I'm afraid I'll screw up too. I keep thinking of that Bright Eyes song.

"So there still is hope
Yes, I can be healed
There is someone looking for what I've concealed
In my secret drawer, in my pockets deep
You will find the reasons that I can’t sleep
And you will still want me
But will you still want me?"

I don't know. But there's something really exciting about trying, even. The possibility is almost intoxicating.

I'm going to miss Diego. I haven't cried yet, but I can feel it coming. I'm already lonely.

There are so many rules about new people. Don't say too much, don't say too little, don't get too attached, don't be aloof, don't give too much of yourself, don't take too much. I wish things were simpler, so that when you met a cool person, you both would know, like a safe Bluetooth connection.

I want to be able to send and receive without fear, but that's not how life works, I know. Instead I'll have to sit in trepidation, with butterflies inside and nervous tics outside. It'll be one of those rambling paths that you can never see more than five feet ahead on. But I hope it's worth it. He's a cool guy, I think.

I thought these pills had some magic in them that made me unable to cry. They don't. I cried just now for the first time in more than two weeks, because I realized my little brother is leaving and going out into the world on his own. I'm going to miss him a lot. And I'm worried about him. I just want him to be happy. He's a good boy.

I've lost a bunch of weight since I came home. I'm feeling good about that; things seem to be controllable--it's good to feel in control again. My sister keeps saying, "You've lost so much weight!", which is super sweet of her, but I wonder if it's really even noticeable. I suspect my family just really really wants to be encouraging, since they saw how upset I was about this issue lately.

Maybe I need to take pictures.

Thinking about seeing some people I haven't seen in a while makes me nervous. I don't know how to explain myself to people who expect a lot of me. I wish I could lower people's expectations without affecting how much they cared about me.

I feel like I slapped myself verbally, and it was the best thing. I'm okay. I'm going to be less neurotic. I'm going to be better. It's going to work out.

Let's try to make sense of this.

Okay so I was a chubby kid. But I probably got chubbier because I was a sad little girl. I was a sad little girl because of something I had no control over.

But now I'm a big adult. In high school I got bigger, because I was sad that I was fat, among other things; which brought on this medical condition that happens to throw more weight gain in my direction. It also screws up hormone levels so that I am moody and depressed. When I am moody and depressed all I want to do is sleep and I really can't bring myself to give a shit about exercise.

And it's really hard to not be depressed, because the condition's physical side effects basically make me feel like the ugliest girl on Earth.

It is a giant loop of shit that I'm in.

So this temporary medication that the doctor prescribed...could it actually break this loop and give me a chance, really? If I am good, will I get to be a normal person someday? It's hard to hope, because of my record of failure, but I guess it's all I got now. I'm not going to apologize for trying something a little extreme. My sister worried when I told her, but she's never been an unhealthy and ugly fat girl. I am desperate.

Whatever fucking works. The shit hit the fan, and something needed to be done.

Always, when things are bad, happiness seems an eternity away. You can't imagine that you ever laughed and smiled before. Happiness seems like a ghost that you're not quite sure was ever a live thing.

I need to find a way to bottle something that will remind me, when I need to be reminded, that everything passes, that things change and get better, that at the bottom of that pit I'll eventually find a rope and climb back out.

Trying to snap out of it. Trying. Maybe it'll work this time. Maybe I can slap myself out of this. Enough.

Okay, in earnest now, we're starting Operation: Like Yourself. Not love yourself, that sounds too corny. In fact, let's start with, Don't Hate Yourself. Okay. That's where we'll start. We're going to do things that make us feel okay. We're going to not sob three times a day. We're going to be better. Deal? Deal.

Because I can't explain how anybody on Earth is supposed to like me when even I don't like me, I am in a situation. Being conscious of this doesn't help much. I'm constantly snapping at people, making mistakes, wishing for things to be different, and hating myself in some form or another. There are things I want to do that won't be any good to do when I feel like shit. So I don't do them. Then I feel more like shit for not doing them. Maybe I should have devoted some time last semester to figuring out what the fuck is wrong with me. That might have been a better time investment. No, no, scratch that--I should have figured out how to fix myself. Because at this point I don't care what's wrong anymore. I just want to fix it, to do whatever it takes, to move on, to be. I don't want to be a sad girl for the rest of my life. It's getting old.

invisible

I'm a lot calmer. I think it may be because instead of it being a huge tremendous drama every time I realize I'm a loser, it's now kind of a "Yeah, okay, so?" every time I think about it. So I'm accepting it. And feeling less like shit. It's funny how that works.

I don't even know what day it is or what I'm doing anymore. Coming home might have been a huge mistake. I'm slipping into that hole. I really don't like myself. I cry about everything and I don't know what to do about it. I want to sleep all day, because you can't cry, eat, or think in your sleep. I don't know what's happening to me.

I think I know why living is so hard. It's because nobody can ever know. Nobody is ever going to know exactly how much it hurt when your father said that, when your family forgot this, when your friends dismissed that. And all the while, they've got all those things in themselves too. It's like everybody's got frantic birds flying around inside themselves, and the mess makes it near impossible to consider the mess inside of anybody else. When somebody else tells you about their birds, you say, "I know," but you really can't know, because you're still thinking about the war that's being waged in your person shell.

I've spent so much of my life trying for people to see all the birds inside of me. I've always thought that if they just saw them then maybe everything would be alright. Maybe everybody would understand and things would be good. But maybe I need to try a new approach. Because I don't think that's ever going to happen.

They've known you longer than anybody else in the world and they think you're like this because you're lazy. That it's all your fault and you just need to try harder. "When have you tried really hard? You got this way over a lot of years. It's not going to fix itself overnight. You need to try harder." You've not tried hard enough? They must really be disappointed in you if they think this giant flaw of yours is your own stupid fault.

You didn't want to spend two hours of your birthday crying and wishing you could expel everything from your stomach and never eat again. That you could exercise four hours a day until you lost these extra 140 pounds you have on you. Until you were normal enough and didn't have this giant flaw hanging on you for all the world to see and judge and then dismiss you as lazy and worthless.

I want to cry a lot. It's hard in this house with thin walls and people who don't want me to cry. They come and hug and talk and mean well but at the end of the day I'm alone and lonely. But I've given up not being lonely. It's going to be the dull ache that grows out of my heart and kills the rest of me, slowly but with determination. I know. I'm going to die alone of loneliness. What a fool I am.