burning at both ends

24 05 2010

It’s Victoria Day or some crap in Canada, so there ain’t shit happening at work. Which is bonzer, because some jackass rebooted my system and now I have to use two separate keyboards and mice for my two computers. Which is balls.

My weekend was good, albeit far too short as always. Every Monday morning brings a bit of incredulity, lying in bed, tangled up, warm, and wondering how the fuck it can be Monday again and what happened to the last 48 hours. Even though I had a lovely weekend. Breakfast with Stephen on Saturday, dinner at the ‘rents’, and a lazy, lazy Sunday cooped up with my girl.

And it was that kind of spittly grey out that you just can’t feel too bad about hiding away. Although we did take a walk to get frozen Chais (btw: REVELATION).

It’s the easy goodness of it all that makes Monday morning that much more harsh. That, and her arms tight around my neck, and the way she buries her cheeks in mine…

…when you’re next to someone it can be so hard to get out of bed sometimes, as if you were drugged by their curves and their body heat…

That’s from Stephen Elliot, the editor for the Rumpus, whose daily email updates swing back and forth between lovely journals and standard newsletters. That was a good one. In that way that words are good when you read them serendipitously at that moment in your life when they’ll resonate with you most strongly.

It’s our 2 month anniversary today.

Or something. Calling something an anniversary after only 2 months seems a little…I don’t know, cheesy? Or maybe not quite right? In more than just the strict-interpretation-of-the-terminology type way. Although I’m not sure why.

Nothing felt cheesy to me about the moment when she told me she wanted me, wanted to turn in her ring, wanted to know when our anniversary is. Nothing feels cheesy about having a reason to treat her dinner. To search the terms of her smile from across the table, twinkling in the low light.

It’s just that clocks are ticking in both of my ears. One is gentle, even, almost melodious like dripping water, but steadying like a metronome. The other is slow, still, but each day I notice that moment where the beat picks up, just a millisecond faster, I break a sweat.

Two months gone by means two months remaining, more or less. And I’m doing my best not to think about the implications. I’m scared of where I’ll be without her, for sure. More or less scared than I would have been on my own? There’s no way to tell. There will be no way to tell, in fact, until I am in the middle of it, dealing. For this reason I am confident that my conscious efforts not to worry on it are justified. I’d so much rather enjoy the time I have left than sweat what will happen when I run out.

It is hard, though. Knowing that the moment will come when I’ll be out of time, all of a sudden, and then I won’t be here anymore, and she won’t be with me anymore, and all I’ll have of this time is the wondering where it’s gone.

And, irrationally, I know that will feel like oblivion. (Sort of like these shifts, but the days won’t end with her wrapped around me.)

I’ll have to remember how else to drift off to sleep.




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