I finished my final. It wasn't great, but it is done. I worked on it for 18 hours today. I anticipate a solid B in that class, which is okay with me, because I never will use that knowledge again. I promise you this.
I heard that I received an A in my summer class. This is a nice surprise, since I thought it was graded pass /fail.
I am so happy that I'm finished. I have to work for four more days, and then I'm out to Boston. I have a million things to do before then, but it'll be nice not to have this class hanging over my head.
--- School rant over ----
The best thing that has happened this week, BY FAR, is that Zach flies here on Friday, not Saturday.
He is amazing.
The last time I saw him was October 23rd, when I was crying in the security line knowing I would have to board a plane that would take me 1200 miles away from him.
The time before that was August 19th, when I had to board a plane to take me 1200 miles away from him, but I was relieved, because I felt things for him and I wasn't ready for the intensity of a relationship.
This time, I am not leaving.*
I am jumping in with both feet.
I want to love him with pure, reckless abandon.
He is beautiful. And I am humbled and grateful that he is mine.
* unless it is for Jerusalem, which has been the plan since August last year....
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Sunday, January 13, 2008
And if you play defender I could be your hyper space...
I said that to Scott once, and he said something to the extent of "don't tell me these things if you're too young to remember them" (my paraphrase).
I keep myself busy with tasks and projects than cultivating meaningful relationships. I am socially awkward, and have a low tolerance for small talk, chit-chat, or anything that can generate the superficial topics of "what do you do?" "what music do you like?" or "have you seen / heard (this movie / this song)?" because it doesn't mean anything. Because of this combined with my solitary nature, there are only a few people who mean the world to me. Scott is one of those people.
Boy, do I miss him.I reflect on this past spring/summer too much, like when he drank wine and I drank ice tea--he was my lifeline more than on any high-ratings game show. I wish I could go back in time, walk with him in the park, and erase certain people and events from that day. While I rolled up my pant legs and waded in the fountain (even though it was barely warm enough), he tried to put the mysterious, evasive pieces of my life together, like Johnny Staccato, while smoking a cigarette. I believe I curled up in the fetal position, on a stone bridge over a creek, and broke down. For some strange reason, that day meant a lot to me, despite the self-willed pain, unwise and masochistic, it hurt. It didn't hurt less because he was there, but his presence makes reflecting on the past more beautiful. (If he knew this, he'd probably still only get himself off while thinking of mayonnaise lathered on female robots with leather fetishes.)
Once, he serenaded me with the theme of Planet Unicorn when we were in my car. Then we drank moderately, and I watched him flirt mercilessly with other girls, and it amused me, delighted me, and while they were captivating his attention, I felt a bit of avarice, a bit of sadness, and a lot of tequila. He is quite charming, that one.
There was a time, when I was self-righteous and wrong, and I told him my opinion. He got mad, and we didn't speak for awhile. He yelled at me in a restaurant. Thankfully, Zach was there to mediate and console. I cried, out of shock, embarrassment, hurt, and the fact that he was mostly right. I had never seen him so upset, so frustrated, or ever really, raise his voice, other than to say "zappy doodles," so it was quite disconcerting. Things were awkward until the mojitos kicked in, concurrently with supplication and penitence, and we had a beautiful time.
There are some moments that cannot be defined by verbosity.
I hope for more in Boston.
I keep myself busy with tasks and projects than cultivating meaningful relationships. I am socially awkward, and have a low tolerance for small talk, chit-chat, or anything that can generate the superficial topics of "what do you do?" "what music do you like?" or "have you seen / heard (this movie / this song)?" because it doesn't mean anything. Because of this combined with my solitary nature, there are only a few people who mean the world to me. Scott is one of those people.
Boy, do I miss him.I reflect on this past spring/summer too much, like when he drank wine and I drank ice tea--he was my lifeline more than on any high-ratings game show. I wish I could go back in time, walk with him in the park, and erase certain people and events from that day. While I rolled up my pant legs and waded in the fountain (even though it was barely warm enough), he tried to put the mysterious, evasive pieces of my life together, like Johnny Staccato, while smoking a cigarette. I believe I curled up in the fetal position, on a stone bridge over a creek, and broke down. For some strange reason, that day meant a lot to me, despite the self-willed pain, unwise and masochistic, it hurt. It didn't hurt less because he was there, but his presence makes reflecting on the past more beautiful. (If he knew this, he'd probably still only get himself off while thinking of mayonnaise lathered on female robots with leather fetishes.)
Once, he serenaded me with the theme of Planet Unicorn when we were in my car. Then we drank moderately, and I watched him flirt mercilessly with other girls, and it amused me, delighted me, and while they were captivating his attention, I felt a bit of avarice, a bit of sadness, and a lot of tequila. He is quite charming, that one.
There was a time, when I was self-righteous and wrong, and I told him my opinion. He got mad, and we didn't speak for awhile. He yelled at me in a restaurant. Thankfully, Zach was there to mediate and console. I cried, out of shock, embarrassment, hurt, and the fact that he was mostly right. I had never seen him so upset, so frustrated, or ever really, raise his voice, other than to say "zappy doodles," so it was quite disconcerting. Things were awkward until the mojitos kicked in, concurrently with supplication and penitence, and we had a beautiful time.
There are some moments that cannot be defined by verbosity.
I hope for more in Boston.
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