REPORT A PROBLEM
Kyle and I, the lone survivors past 11pm, sat on the couch counting down and sipping champagne. We had the best kiss on the strike of 2004.
This year my resolution is to not make resolutions or other stressful, impossible-to-follow plans. I will make an effort to live for today (No Day but Today, after all), and not for whenever it is I tend to waste time dreaming about.
And for another word restriction project, here is this year's mayfly:
watched daddy die, infidelities (gummy bears), turned 18, GNO's no more, graduated, college whee!, miss dad, TG4 Abby, love Kyle.
After satisfying my rampant craving for Einstein's Bagels and McNuggets, Kyle and I decided to go to the hospital and visit his mom. We only planned on stopping by, but when she offered to get us Chinese my period-infested mind couldn't turn down food. We didn't get back to his grandparents house until after 1, and found out later that his grandfather was freaking out and was convinced that we'd gotten a hotel room and were screwing our brains out.
I bit my tongue at the thought of all the blowjobs on the couch a few feet from his bedroom.
Sitting on top of the plane engine was damn close to unbearable, but I was absorbed enough in my latest Dan Brown book to avoid the unsetting cacophony. It was hot in the back of the plane and our flight was delayed, but I was so happy to see mom and surprised and excited to see Abby that I forgot everything else. The vacation was nice, the sledding was hilarious and fun, and the falling snow and tiny snowflakes delighted me. But there comes a point when 2 weeks of "in-laws" and separate beds begins to grate on one's nerves.
"This would be a good screen-name for you…"
My heart stopped. I prayed it was an eerie fluke, but I knew what it meant. He wasn't about to just come out and say it, he had to know I was going to panic. The drive to his house seemed to take forever, and I couldn't handle Monica's ruthlessness this particular day. So we left, and talked for a long time. I could say he reacted well, which he did, but the biting and aggression marred the make-up.
Maybe he needed this, maybe I needed this. Maybe the relationship needed this.
We talked today like we hadn't in awhile; not in a romantic or loving way, but just like two normal people in a relationship that respect each other. There was no name-calling, fewer rude jokes carried to far, no prideful anger.
It makes me wonder why. Did the words you read sink in more than the words I say just because of their nature? Did it hit you that I wasn't just pointlessly arguing, but that I was actually hurting?
(I only have the cravings when I am stark raving mad at you, and there's a very direct correlation there.)
I haven't been thrown totally off guard about my body in awhile, and other than holding extreme contempt for my over-sized boobs, I've grown accustomed to and comfortable in my body. When I signed up for swimming class as a relaxing elective, the image of my uni-boob squeezed into my Speedo was not what popped into my head. It popped in quickly, however, when I glanced around the bleachers at the 40:3 hot:not people in the class.When it came down to the big dip, I was fine, but the unconfident surge was a bit out of character for me.
I walked into BEH 104, much like BEH 103 where my 350 student women's studies class was last semester. This time it was for human development. "Hmm…big class for a random nursing pre-req," I thought to myself. When the professor began to talk and asked how many people were here in hopes of getting into the nursing program, I proudly raised my hand from the front row and turned to see who I might joining in fall '05.
About 394 people raised their hands just as proudly, and I got the eerie feeling that my B's weren't going to cut it.
I handed Christi her ringing cell phone as she tried to conceal herself in her matching black satin bra and underwear. I looked for a moment, and forgot my goth roommate with the hidden body. She's really quite pretty. It made me think of Abby, who has become more confident over the years, but still blushes in a bikini. I remember telling my dad in third grade that I wished I looked like Abigail because she was just beautiful. Erin acted much the same way, and never believed me when I promised her that her boobs were really quite perfect.
I love the solitude I feel when I open a book, even when I'm surrounded by people. I plucked _David Copperfield_ (Dickinson, not the magician) off the dusty "Classics" shelf in Barnes and Noble today and reveled in the size and complexity of this, my favorite book as a 5th grader. I've never been able to read enough. Classics, biographies, murder mysteries, fictions, anything but Harlequin. I bought Davie, and I'll read him curled up on my couch in my fleece blanket with a café con leche. My nose will bury itself in all 729 smooth, crisp, new-smelling inky pages.
"The Phaaaaaantom of the Opera is heeeeeeeeeere!"
What a fabulous play…the music makes my knees weak; it's so powerful. Kyle and I looked quite smashing in matching gray and black ensembles as we sauntered into the theatre. Dinner at the Melting Pot was fantastic, especially because of the dim corner booth we flirted in by the light of a small candle.
But, as has been our ritual of late, we fought later in the night. After the CBHS play and Fairvilla, I was in a fine mood. But Kyle…wasn't. It was probably just the sleepiness talking, but I worry anyway.
Mom said the way I'd been talking, it seemed like Kyle and I spent about half of our time apart, and precious time together, fighting. Or usually not even fighting, but just bickering. Bickering over nothing, bickering because we're tired, or upset about something else, or stressed out, or whatever. And rather than doing anything constructive, or turning to each other for help, we turn against each other. When we're getting along and happy, we make a great team. Whether it's Cranium or trading homework or being pranksters, we're awesome together. Why can't it be like that all the time?
And so begins the new semester. College is going by so much faster than high school ever did. My schedule is pretty good this semester- chemistry for today (easy), human sexual behavior (awesome), life cycle (nursing pre-req), swimming (relaxing AND easy), and the utterly dull online historical perspectives in literature. I am determined to make straight A's this semester, due to the dreadfully large number of hands that went up last week in life cycle. I am completely obsessed with getting into the nursing program now. But the pressure's really on now. Feels like applying for college all over again.
He told me he was fine, and his voice was steady as usual. But I know him well after all this time, and I know that he isn't fine. And he's not just angry either. He knows my mom loves him almost as much as I do. He knows he's loved by a lot of people. I just wish he knew that his dad loved him too. No matter what the Zeller side says, no matter how much Ernie's personality is rude and irritating, he stills loves him. I hope neither of them do anything they'll regret later in life.
So. It's been a year. It's not like I noticed that he was gone today more than any other day. Sometimes it feels like I just talked to him yesterday. I can hear him laughing, see his face. Sometimes it feels like more than one year has passed. I can't remember much of the week he was in ICU. I talked to him alone once while the vent was in, and told him everything I'd always wanted to. I didn't cry, because I'd assumed he would wake up and hear it for real.
He never did. I miss you, dad.
I figured Nancy and Rich would come over and we'd all sit around, tense, sad, not knowing how to comfort one another. Papa can't hear anyone anyway, Rich never says the right thing, mom and Nancy would act cold, Mem would look as awful as she did the day of the funeral. I would try to ignore how I felt to prevent war and hysteria from breaking out.
Instead, Nancy and Rich never came, and we were all happy. The memories flooded in, but they were good.
But in the back of our heads, we all missed him so much.
I had to smile when I walked in my room on Wednesday and Kyle's stuff was scattered here and there. But when we returned from Jacksonville, my room was more than cluttered, it was taken over by a strange and powerful force- a messy teenage boy. This time I had to force a smile. I love waking up to him in the morning, but the snooping and messiness is not something I'll tolerate much longer. Though they've both mom told me how bad they feel, mom hasn't done anything about the clutter all semester, and I'm guessing Kyle won't either.
I feel like I'm in a sitcom. Like I'm that stupid teenager that got knocked up or something else inappropriate, and so to help me and my equally stupid teenage boyfriend, my mom has graciously offered to let my boyfriend stay in the house with us. And despite the fact that everyone knows we are sexually active and have been for quite some time, despite the fact that we have total privacy during daytime hours (because adults seem to only have sex at night) we cannot share a room. We're allowed to sleep together, but we can't
Why do people always have mad cleaning frenzies when someone they barely know, or don't much care about, is coming over? Everybody does it. Even though I'm about to point out it's illogical nature, I, too, am guilty of it. You're having a party for coworkers you hate, your evil in-laws are stopping by with an hour's notice, your friend from grade school calls and is in the area. BAM! You're off like a bat outta hell. But do you keep the house clean for those nearest and dearest to you? Hell no. We assume they'll stick around either way.
I keep hearing the phrase "Gay is the new black," and I'm sure whether it's more insulting to gay people or black people. I realize it insinuates that slowly but surely (except in the white house), the GLBT community is being more accepted. We'll just ignore the fact that gay people were never enslaved or taken from their native culture and land. They have been persecuted, they have had their fair share of hate crimes, but we're back to apples and oranges here. Gay is not an ethnicity we can send "back to Africa," or push back in the closet.
Despite the lack of sleep, despite my comforter being sideways, despite the fact that my pillow had gone AWOL, my morning was brightened by his legs being intertwined with mine when the alarm began its hideous beeping. We will definitely need a king-size bed, and I'll have to give up my tee-shirt sheets. But those times when the actions of anyone else in the world would annoy the living _ out of me, his just make me shake my head and grin.
"It's the little imperfections it's the sudden change in plans
Yeah I live for little moments like that…"
Pouting and name-calling and whatnot doesn't hold a candle to the time he put my legs on his in Spain, the look of true concern he gave when I found out my dad had cancer, the chicken-noodle soup that evolved from Campbell's to home-made, the way I catch him staring at me when I'm falling asleep, how hard he tries to explain derivatives to me, the orchid he bought me for no reason, the way his arms envelope me, the way he can cry in front of me. Nothing he ever does to make me mad can hide these memories.
I sat, mesmerized, staring at the projection on the screen. No one around me seemed to be as enchanted by the detailed explanation of how a baby grows. I felt like the most powerful person in the world knowing my body could grow another human inside it. I asked questions and began making a plan to make my body as healthy as possible for my future kids. I can't wait. I want life to happen to me. Everything looks so promising right now, and the talk Kyle and I had the other only makes it better. Talk about little moments.
It would be much easier than my being in the military. He would be gone 6 months out of every three years, and that's hard. But I'd have my mom and the other Navy moms to help out. I'd get to meet him places, see the world with him. The money and plan would be perfect for us. We thought about marrying first- this December. Then we thought about how mad our families would be, and decided to wait.
But I don't know how much longer I'll wait. I don't want to lose college fun, but I
Medical University of South Carolina- a university devoted entirely to medicine, with a fast-track nursing BSN/MSN- 3 years to being a certified nurse-midwife. Conveniently enough, it's in Charleston, SC, where Kyle's Navy Nuc. School will be for 2 years. If he does basic during the first semester of my nursing school, then gets his first sea assignment while I'm finishing, it would work out quite nicely. We are still in the considering stages, but we'll know for sure by summer.
I'm so excited- this has the potential to start us off right. A bisexual feminist stay-at-home mom/Navy wife. Go figure.
I wonder if I'm supposed to have doubts about this, or if you're so sure when you find "the one" that you never question it.
I think about how young I am. We'd be 20 when we got married, which is admittedly better than 18, but still…
I've thought about the fact that neither of us has dated anyone else. I've certainly considered the fact that despite their correlation with our fights, I still have desires to have a real relationship with a girl. When we're together, all this fades, but 200 miles make it easier to entertain my doubts.
At 2am with the rain I love pattering on my balcony, K92FM playing from my laptop, and Kyle and I intermittently talking on direct-connect, I am happy. I notice how well we kid back and forth, how comfortable we are together. My mind is pulling me back and forth. It's telling me to marry my love while yelling not to commit when I'm so young and inexperienced.
Which side of my brain is right?
With Bryan finding me wedding sites and "Mona" slipping further away every second I'm with Kyle, things are clearing slightly. I guess I just need time.
I spent three weeks in December with Kyle. I came home the first weekend after break, Wednesday through Monday the week after that, and the weekend after that. I'm not going home this weekend, because I needed a travel break.
Last semester wasn't like this. I missed him, but between classes, getting adjusted, and meeting people I wasn't in desperation. When I came home Sunday, Christi and I made plans for Flirt and a superbowl party this weekend. I wondered if I would miss that available spontaneity if I married and lived with Kyle.
Right now I just miss him.
Funny things that happened today:
Walked out to get cereal around 2am and saw Kelly's dad sleeping in NOTHING BUT HIS TIGHTIE-WHITIES!
Was so exhausted after human sexual behavior that I talked to myself in an Indian accent the entire walk home.
Went into fits of convulsive laughter with Christi watching the ridiculously hyperactive Dinah running sporadically through the house.
Managed to hide Dinah from Kelly and perv-daddy one more day, while deciding that since she looks like a velociraptor and is a cunt, her nickname is now punani-raptor, or PNR.
Hid in Christi's room all night doing raptor impressions.
In all honesty, the cravings are still there. They were definitely popping up tonight when Kyle sent me movie after lesbian movie. I haven't really looked at porn, besides glancing through Playboys with him, since 11th grade. I mean, every now and then I'd check out the Hun and see what was up, but it just isn't doing it for me anymore.
The movies were good. The funny thing was, though they did make me want to be in a similar encounter, in the end, I was just horny. Uncontrollably horny- and I wanted Kyle. I wanted good strong sex.
I hate I-4, I hate Orlando, I hate traffic, I'm on my period heavy, and I'm irritable. But I drove to Alafaya, and so did he despite not going to school today. We saw Butterfly Effect and had dinner, walked through Target and stopped by three hotels before we found one that rented to under 21. While falling asleep on the horrible mattress in the smelly little room with someone else's leftover Chinese in the mini-fridge, I realized that with him could I be so content in this room. Something's been just right lately, and I think it's gonna last.
We were sitting in Steak'n'Steak after a long night of clubbing, close to another table with goth clothes and tell-tale black X's across their hands, when our waitress came up with a small bowl. We hadn't ordered yet, so we had no idea what it could be. When she told us the bowl of whipped cream and cherries was from the not-so-cute preppy guy two tables over who thought Christi was cute, we could barely contain ourselves. He in his Dockers saw something in Christi's 4-inch boots and fishnets.
We ate the whipped cream and guffawed over the cherry symbolism.
The Tip Jar