suppose i never ever let you

He asked me to write this all down. Save it in a bottle like a scoop of ocean water and sand. He likes how I write. Thinks it’s pretty. He’s bonded to our story like he has to the smell of my soap. Holding my wrist to his mouth and breathing in. My fingers unfolding into his hair. For me it’s been a string of coincidences and moments like that. Almost sickeningly sweet. Dimly lit. In soft focus. But that is what this is. What these weeks are. The weeks before we one day disagree. The weeks before the day to day can even touch us. The weeks when seeing his name pop up on my cell phone gives me butterflies.

These weeks are to be savored.

I have this idea. Or picture. It’s more of a picture. Of all these very public diaries written by boys and girls and men and women. Posted with wordy snapshots and punctuative ideas of what life is like for us. What it means to share 2007 with a planet full of people who are more alike than different. I can see this timeline in my head. Of all the people before us and all the ones yet to come. Slices of who gets to share today. And it will be a slightly different slice tomorrow. All these people telling their stories of falling in love, of being in high school, of what they had for lunch. We’re documenting life in a way that its never been documented. Turning history books to puzzles where the pieces are scattered about and each one fits with all the others.

This is what I tell myself when I write down how he smells my wrist and how we were at the same punk show in Green Bay, WI summer of 1988, and how I knit stuff and how my cat did something cute. I’m adding to this collective story. Just like you are. Just like she is. Just like he is.

I had lentil soup with spinach for lunch. Keith taught me how to say “Where is the butter?” in French as though I was extremely cranky to have to ask.

And about two months ago I met a boy. Met him because he was wearing a wrist band and I think wrist bands are totally hot. Met him because he said he was brave enough to be truthful and had gone from punk rock kid to irreverent adult with a healthy dose of grown up and dad and guy next door. Met him because I couldn’t get him out of my mind once our paths crossed. 24 hours later I was sending him an e-mail and crossing my fingers. Now he’s having his mom analyze my handwriting and wearing a scarf I made him as he visits his family in DC. His 14 year old son in tow. His cell phone charger forgotten on his kitchen table. His dad wanting to take him to church.

Everyone, this is Bob.

Bob, this is everyone.

i got lost in the sounds

Instead of blaming it on the New Guy, I’m going to first blame my hiatus on Flickr. That whole “a picture is worth a thousand words” thing is really appealing. I’m still in the honeymoon phase with my wee digital camera and it created an unholy alliance designed to bring down my blog.

Next up, I’m going to blame the weather. It’s been all end of the world here. Hail. Snow. Torrential rains. Wind storms. It was all I could do to make it to work on time, and by on time I mean, you know, like by noon.

After that I think I’ll blame laziness with a pinch of writer’s block tossed in for good measure. I tried to write. I really did. But it just wasn’t happening. If my blog was judged by hours put in and not words, I assure you November would not have gone by unnoticed. I spent at least 10 hours looking at a blank page and another 20 contemplating why that was so.

If I was forced to come up with a Top 5, maybe, MAYBE, the New Guy would make an appearance. But to say he’s an obstacle to anything is silly. He’s a distraction, sure. A very cute distraction who happens to be an excellent kisser. But he’s really Grade A Fancy fodder. I have a novel kicking around in me with him as a main character and to tag him a threat to this lil ol’ blog is preposterous. Instead, it was more like waiting to introduce a new boy or girlfriend to your kid. You know, you wanna wait to make sure it’s worth the trouble. Nothing is worse than waxing poetic about how fantabulous he is only to have him be yesterday’s news quicker than I can change my MySpace status back to single. But it’ll be 2 months on Christmas Eve and, dang it, that seems like something. 8 weeks of goo-goo eyes and flirty e-mails. 8 weeks of worrying about what I was going to wear and if I smelled nice. 8 weeks of constant smiling and butterflies. It’s been pretty neat.

I think I’m blushing.

In other news, Best Boss Ever left to go back to radio. He was a gopher on the set of WKRP when he was in college and apparently that had a mighty big impact on him. His leaving triggered my third mid-life crisis. Now I’m on this kick where I want to care about my job. Have it mean something. I have my eye on the perfect place and my fingers crossed. My step dad had heart surgery and is going to be ok. But, man, what a week. The scare made me realize I loved him and I told him so after 23 years of not telling him so. One of my friends is pregnant. And I couldn’t be happier because the world needs more curly haired cutie pies. Clover is robuster than ever. Boo is gonna be in Revolver magazine cuz she rocks that much.

Winter is the new metaphoric spring.