Since arriving, I’ve read this week’s Time Out Chicago — somehow skipping to the sex column before wading patiently through music and movie reviews for shows and films I won’t be in town to see — and I was a bit regretful I’d decided to leave my favorite vibrator on my nightstand. So I’ve been reading Anne Lamott’s Grace (Eventually) and trying not to think about matters of the flesh, as it were.
Talking to The Green-Eyed Boy when I woke up this morning he said, “Even if your family were normal, you’d still be nervous,” but I wasn’t buying it. And I’ve been thinking that I don’t feel anxiety or fear or worry or anything necessarily bad, but instead as though my spirituality has a catch in its throat, or a blockage, or just something preventing it from operating properly. I’ll get to a meeting today, though, and perhaps that will be the salve I need.
Speaking of family: they are going to Six Flags today, and I am not. They are going to dinner tonight, and I’m taking myself to a meeting and movie. Tomorrow is another dinner, and I told my brother I would only go it his friends are there. I will be brave and walk into uncomfortable situations, but suicide missions stopped being my thing some time ago.
I miss The Green-Eyed Boy more than I thought I would. Then again, we’ve been inseparable for some time now, and I’ve grown quite used to his presence, but also his smell and the way he feels. He drove me to the airport yesterday (he is using my car while I’m gone) and instead of just dropping me off — what anyone and everyone else in my life would do — he walked with me as far as he could, right up to the security checkpoint, and even then waited to see me through the other side. It feels wonderful to be the recipient of all that care, even more so now that I finally feel I deserve it.
And speaking of my beau, we’re going on a road trip when I come back, in celebration of his 28th birthday, which will pass when he’s out of town on a retreat. It will be short — only a day and a half or so — but I’m looking forward to it, and not just because I’ll get to fall asleep in his arms for longer than an afternoon nap on my couch. I feel like a broken record, saying how wonderful this sudden happening is, but it’s also true. I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time, and much of it has to do with meeting The Green-Eyed Boy and realizing there was someone fantastic out there who is sober and works a good program and is seriously gorgeous and who treats me the way I deserve to be treated. And he’s smart and honest and kind and he makes me laugh.
Now, I’m still in bed in the guest room of this musician friend of my brother. This home is spectacular, with its built-in bookcases and hundreds of.records and a tiny music studio carved out for my host’s songwriting. We stayed up until almost 3am, chatting about little things, my brother playind darts, my host being mellow and exuding a scent I associate with indie musicians: a mixture of sandalwood and clean soap and possibly marijuana and just plain sweet enthusiasm, which has to have a smell of its own, right? It still feels like a foreign place, though, which is why I’m blogging in bed with Anne Lamott open on the nightstand and my left foot sticking out from under the covers. I don’t much feel like getting up, like putting myself out there and being a regular nondysfunctional human being right now. So I’m going to read some more Lamott. I’m going to pray. I’m going to meditate and feel the strength in my soul and my limbs and my heart. I’m going to pray some more. And then I’m going to take a shower and see where life takes me today.