A Weekend...This causes a fear of exposure...just so you know.

Internet is down at home.

So you are spared my normal drunken ramblings.

Instead you get the Monday after.

Oh but after so much.

Friday is kind of a blur, I know that it involved a walk to and from the K.  The latter being with a to go cup filled with Irish whiskey (Oh, A. you are too good to me).  Basically the K. was in lock in mode, and that was one of the better times I've had alone in a long time.  Now I know what to do with myself when I feel super alone.  The K. is literally my second home.  Sounds dumb but is so true.

So I had a hard time sleeping on Friday night.  Not much of a surprise.  But S.F. was coming over the next morning so I powered through the dark (literally praying the rosary if I remember correctly).  And tried not to let things get a little to hairy.  I failed, but eventually got to sleep.

Waking up the next morning I wasn't sober at all yet, but was willing to just go with that for the day (Literally too good, A.  Literally.).  I ate some food and curled up on the couch, washed dishes very slowly while watching Intolerable Cruelty (Thank you Coen Brothers for making a creepy romantic comedy).  And waited.

Every time I know she is going to be spending time with me, I feel that flash of child under my skin.  Waiting, just waiting for sleep to be done so that Santa will have arrived.  But there is something so much more there now.  It isn't just the child, but also the man who aches to be close to someone that he loves.  He wants nothing more than the heart of someone to beat in his own chest.  

That transplant kind of close.

I want to have the killers eyes to see through.  I am her victim, and I want to know what it was like.  

She walks in.  Dressed in nerd shirt and cargo shorts, hat with a skull on it.  I could ask for no finer attire.  I could feel no more deeply.  I could be no more close.

How wrong I was.

The day went on.  There were movies watched, and moments that are better left to the imagination.  But nothing so deep as laying in bed with her.  John Cash singing, and me opening.  It has been so long (since long before J.) that I have been open with someone about what torments me.  I may give you hints and snatches here, but even you my closest friends (which is what I consider those who read this), I try not to burden with open skies and Sacred Hearts.  But she, she always has, and always will hold that all for me.

It is very difficult to explain.

But there is something there that is so much more than the hot spark of physical lust there is closeness.  And in that moment as she holds me in her arms, and Cash and Strummer sing Redemption Songs, I realize that I'm safe, and that she is real.  That my mind isn't trying to fool me like it has so many times before.  I feel her solidify in my arms and I hold her tighter and tighter.  I don't want her to fade away.  I want this to be real.

And it is.

For once.

And now I'm a couple days out, and I can still sense that she is real, and that she is close.  And The shins are coming through my speakers, b. is sleeping on the big bean bag at my work, everyone is gone, my work is done, and I'm writing, and there is her, always her, always her, always her.

I'm so happy I could cry.

It all makes very little sense.

But there you have it.

File under Vice (happiness this hard bought can only be a Vice).