In this place that we call home...

...the match of the century: absence versus thin air.

Bump in the night

Last night Darius spent the night with us. He likes sleeping on my Aerobed and in my sleeping bag, and we set him up a bed in the living room. After giving strict instructions to come get dad if he had to go potty, we all went to sleep. About an hour later, he jumped out of bed in terror and came running into the bedroom crying from a nightmare. Ivan and I sprung out of bed immediately to comfort him. I wrapped my arms around him and stroked his hair, while Ivan said, "It's okay, buddy. Do you want to climb in bed with us?"

Somewhere during my half asleep confusion, I remember looking at Ivan and thinking, "Yes, I want to do this with you."




As Spiderman





Behind the mask

To the anonymous commenter who feels obliged to pass judgment on my life

Maybe you should go fuck yourself.

Askew, aflutter, and awash

I'm nearly dizzy with delight today.

We made some family planning decisions last night, and my brain can barely focus on the smaller details of my daily grind as it tries to wrap itself around these huge things. I think I'll keep the specific details private at this time (I know! You're not used to that, are you?), but I am lost somewhere between excitement and terror as I think about what I want to do and how I want to take care of myself before it's time to start trying. My brain keeps saying, "This might be your last August 27 as a non-parent!" and "This could be the last Christmas before you turn in to 1/2 of Santa Claus!"

How do people do this?

The San Francisco native

I'm gonna tell my son to grow up pretty as the grass is green
And whip-smart as the English Channel's wide
And I'm gonna tell my son to keep his money in his mattress
And his watch on any hand between his thighs
And I'm gonna lock my son up in a tower
Till I write my whole life story on the back of his big brown eyes

Full mind, empty belly

Holy mother of god are we poor right now! The last time I was this broke it was, like, 1997.

I didn't have any money to eat lunch today and was pretty bummed about it. MAGICALLY my office suite ended up with a donation of free pizza after some event ended and it was just about the best thing EVER. Guess I'll have to pick up all the pennies and nickles that spill from my pockets to the floor when I take off my jeans (and drive Ivan crazy). There's no money for lunch tomorrow, either, but it's a work from home day and that is a major consolation. At least I can be hungry at home in my pajamas.

I suppose one day we will look back on this time period and laugh. Because we are sick sons of bitches like that. Right now it's not too funny, though.

Trapped/digging out

This weekend we had very few choices. For a variety of reasons not worth going into, we're out of money until payday (and we only get paid once per month). Plus, my car is having some serious issues and should not be driven until I get it fixed. Which cannot happen until after payday. Thus, this weekend we stayed in. And ate ramen noodles.

Mostly we lounged. I spent a little time clearing some clothes and other stuff out of the bedroom to give us more space. I threw away items that I swore I would fit into again. I threw away the blanket that I originally started crocheting for my grandma, because I am never going to finish it. Tears were the result.

I am still interested in getting back into running (inspired, in part, by brief encounters with my old running clothes) and Ivan agrees. I think joining the gym is our most realistic option, although we have different ideas about which gyms to join.

Last night we went to bed early.

This morning when emerging from the shower, Ivan said, "Baby, I'm sorry living with me isn't more glamorous."

He needn't worry. It's perfect.

Because I am a dork

Our first piece of mail together!

Birthday

I will not be fucked up by this any longer.
I will not be fucked up by this any longer.
I will not be fucked up by this any longer.

The unmentionables

I know you love me. You murmur it into my ear and against my hair when you are unconscious with sleep. So why can I not help but clam up when you ask me to tell you what I am feeling?

Maybe it is because we are still learning our ways around one another. Maybe it's because no one ever really wanted to hear these things and I'm not used to it. Maybe it is because I worry that if you know my true fears and worries, you won't want me anymore.

Know that when my lips are silent, my head is loud.

Living vicariously

I used to write,
I used to write letters
I used to sign my name
I used to sleep at night
Before the flashing lights settled deep in my brain
But by the time we met
By the time we met the times had already changed...

Enough

I would like to get to the bottom of why I feel abandoned over the slightest things.

I can see it now. I will be the reason.

The bomb-diggity

Alternative title to this post:
Living in sin

It's official. We now live together.

In reality, things have only changed minimally. I mean Ivan got his stuff out of his old room today and we brought it over, but he's been here all along. We've looked at each other a couple of times already and marveled that it was for real now.

He brought over a tupperware container filled with duffle bags. I looked at it incredulously and, knowing how little room we have, said, "Are you bringing all those bags?"

He opened his hands to me and said, "What else am I going to put my stuff in when you kick me to the curb?"

After resting awhile late this afternoon, I woke up with the most amazing idea. "Baby, let's get a Christmas tree this year!" I enthused. He agreed and now I am nearly beside myself.

Jumping in

The move in day is here! We're doing it!

This mess we're in

I think we might be destined to live in a federally-proclaimed disaster area.

I was just looking at pictures of other couples' apartments and--even the ones that bemoan how cluttered and messy they are--they're SPOTLESS compared to ours. Our laundry is in a giant, unfolded pile, our dinner dishes from last night are still in the sink, there is an extra computer in the middle of the living room, the bathroom needs scrubbed...I could go on but it's starting to stress me out. Like watching an episode of "Hoarders."

It's just that we have so many more interesting things to do when we get home in the evening than CLEAN. Like last night. I think I laughed for an hour just because we sat and TALKED and drank beer after dinner. Seriously: my abs are sore today.

I can remember lots of lonely nights in a clean apartment in the past and I wouldn't trade this for the world.

Well, baby I've been here before
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you...

What put me into hysterics

I: I'm like the parakeet whisperer, excepting I'm not whispering. I'm talking normal.

Realization

vul·ner·a·ble
   /ˈvʌlnərəbəl/ Show Spelled[vuhl-ner-uh-buhl]
–adjective

capable of or susceptible to being wounded or hurt, as by a weapon: a vulnerable part of the body.

In memory of smells (abbreviated)

She opened her eyes with a start and looked around. The room was empty and silent; the lanterns and paper cranes hanging from the ceiling were still. Turning over, she began to sniff his side of the bed frantically. She needed one whiff of clean laundry, shaving cream, deodorant, and that unnamed something--the particular scent of his skin. She ran her nose over the pillows and across the sheets and blankets, sniffing all the while.

There. On that pillow. A remnant of him. She curled herself around his smell like a cat and closed her eyes.

Let down

This weekend Ivan and I had his four year old son Darius stay with us. All of my fears are alleviated. We had a wonderful time. I adore Darius and I think he rather likes me as well. And I love Ivan even more after seeing the Dad in him. I'm trying to think of the best way to articulate this to him. I think it might involve whispering under the covers under the dark of night.

This morning felt quiet--no little feet running in to tell us, "Guys...wake up!" We drug ourselves out of bed and into the shower to begin our morning routine. Incidentally, how can this feel routine when it hasn't even been 6 weeks yet? How have I become so accustomed to and content with this way of being so quickly?

All I know is that I am at my desk and I feel lonely. Neither of my boys are here and I miss them terribly.

Me and Bobby McGee

I was playing soft while Bobby sang the blues.
Windshield wipers slapping time, I was holding Bobby's hand in mine,
We sang every song that driver knew...

Weight

"I can feel your sadness all the way in Daly City, but I wouldn't want it any other way."

"I don't have to listen to you."

Ivan told me last night I should write a new blog entry. I dismissed this idea, because I don't want to make everyone barf by reading how happy I am.

We are busy trying to fit into my apartment and putting off our major cleaning day. Cleaning needs to come soon, though, because his son Darius will be staying with us in the near future and--though he is just a kid--I don't want the place to be a disaster.

I confess that I am nervous to meet Darius. I hear he's a sweet and easy-going little boy with a penchant for Spider Man, but all I can hear echoing in my head are future fights that end with, "You're not my mom! You can't tell me what to do!"

Oh god.

I look around my house wondering how to entertain him when he visits. Mostly I come up with the fact that I need to buy popsicles, except I think those might be more for me than they are for him. I have a neglected game of Hungry Hungry Hippos that might go over well. There is a small park near my house that he already likes. I kind of want to gather up and add to my art supplies for some fantastic creations. (Again, probably more for me than him.) I would like to find kid-friendly recipes so that making lunch and snacks could be an interactive experience.

I am remembering trips to my auntie's house as a kid because they were always a special treat. She had paints and cotton balls and watercolors and story books, and we could create and pretend to our heart's content. I would like Darius to feel this way when he visits us.

I am trying not to be daunted by this.

I have many years of experience in taking care of infants and small children; I just hope I'm not too self-centered to be able to do it these days.

Familiarity

I am enjoying your face. When you are away from me and I see a picture of you, I feel a pang of separation. We talk for hours, sleep with limbs entangled, eat together, cross paths in the shower, take turns brushing our teeth--and still I miss you when you’re gone.