Spent far too late last night talking with Adam. We were both having that sort of moment when life has just gotten too big and weird, and we both crashed at each other. Not a pretty sight. Poor baby.
...we barely get to see each other in person sometimes.
He was worried that having me spend more quality time with him, one-on-one, was going to attach me to him too severely, and he does not want to smash my heart and trample it into the floor as badly as some people have done to him in the past.
I shared with him a few bits of my past that should show him exactly how much stomping my heart has already taken. ...I don't think I'll be especially vulnerable to much in the way of heartstomping.
When you spend nine months in a near-fatal depression, you tend to shrug off an evening spent sulking. It just doesn't have the same impact.
Noted to Adam that I consider this a relationship -- a nonexclusive one, with certain boundaries, but it's still a relationship in my book.
We're figuring out what and what not to do.
I am not comfortable with him seeing people who do not know and will never be told that he's also seeing me. It's a potential for severe conflicts should she ever find out, and furthermore it's unethical. We're now discussing the topic of very short flings, and communications for this.
Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. A good 10% of the class is out -- whether by chance, choice, illness, poor scheduling, or other reasons, they were all gone.
Van Zwol started discussing this, and also the plans of everyone else who was there, for the holidays. "So what are you doing this weekend?" he asked the class in general, and then picked on one woman in particular, a rather inconspicuous person on the south side of the room.
"Selling sex toys," she said clearly.
Van Zwol turned bright red and hastily changed the subject. He couldn't just let the comment lie, however. "You certainly don't get this job by being shy, do you," he said. "I suppose now you're going to start handing out business cards to your classmates?"
"In fact, I already have..."
Another stumper for Van Zwol. "So is this door-to-door?" and painted a brief word picture of a door-to-door sex toy salesperson.
"No, it's like Tupperware parties."
By this time the class is in hysterics. Keep in mind that this is 3rd tri Computer Information Systems majors, most of whom are at or over the age of 23.
The concept of Van Zwol hosting such a sex toy party for the entire class to attend is brought up and discarded.
The class did not return to normal operation for a good five to ten minutes, and even then you could hear the snickers and whispers around the room from time to time.
Adding to the general amusement of the situation, of course, is that I have hearing damage from my roommate's music (she has hearing damage from being shot at by her former husband [the man is fondly remembered as "asshole"] and plays her music loud enough for her to hear) and do not clearly hear what the woman on the other side of the room said quietly. I am left to imagine what the three words she uttered were, and my imagination goes wild. Meanwhile, the rest of the class is howling with laughter, the instructor is turning a very nice hue, and the guy who sits between me and the wall and I are looking at each other saying "??" as the sedate accounting class degenerates around us into frat-boy humor.
I'm still not got the energy to write about the day.
Rachel, you're local, right? Within a reasonable distance of Mesa?
...I should have thought to think of calling you for moral support.
It's always fun to crack sexual innuendo jokes at him at work. 3.5" floppies were brought up, and how he doesn't have one at the moment.
It's been too long for us, and we're planning to retreat back to my place in fifteen minutes.
Hee hee hee.
...the use of the Patience Ring to confuse him was also employed. Hehe. He would look better wearing gold than he does wearing silver. His left ring finger bears no ring scars.