Tonight: stressmonkey mode as weekend starts, complete with neck so tense it cracks and sounds brittle. Figment and pizza came over, and put me in the hot tub.
Hot tubs have chlorine. Chlorine not good for certain things. Pretty star necklaces came off. Depressive episodes followed.
*facepalm* What do I have to do to get a fucking clue here?
I'm not used to being alone in my head anymore. I'm not used to living with doubt. I live with fear, but not with doubt. In random passing, I told my first bondmate what my worst fear is. He did not comment, it being only a passing reference, but perhaps it'll serve to warn him off trying anything stupid.
I think things are good -- he tells me, now, beforehand, when he's going to be out, because I've let him know I appreciate it.
Now to let him know how very much it would mean to me to see him for my birthday.
It's my ambition to write such delightful documents of sober and subtle romance that generations to come will thrill at the whispers of nuance in every word.
Instead, I have a nearly one-sided e-mail exchange with a cantankerous best friend, the sort of best friend who scowls and glowers and forgets where the "reply" button is located and doesn't often call back.
I think I'll live.
Romance is yet alive in my soul, despite the fact that my best friend is stiff and uncomfortable with expressions of tender emotion from me, and further despite the fact that he shares his e-mail address with his parents.
