tele-kin-love-pathy
what is it about being in love that throws in a new dimension to time? ever since stuart left new york, my brain has added an extra set of hands to its clock. i’m sitting on the couch in the morning, eating my english muffin and listening to katie couric’s inane chatter? it’s also right after lunchtime and he’s sitting down at his desk, trying to work. i’m hitting my three pm slump and suddenly getting a craving for chocolate? he’s at home, cooking up dinner or reading on his sofa. i’m emerging from under the river into the sunny steel jungle-gym that is the queens above-ground? he’s pulling the covers his head [and starting the heart-wrenchingly adorable twitch/tiny-snore/REM-whimper that is the first ten minutes of falling asleep for him]. my day exists in two time zones.
it could be because we talk at least twice a day. because he’s my alarm clock and my afternoon smoke break, and countless emails in between, making sure to fill each other in on the smallest mundanities of our days. because he knows how i stupidly volunteered my spreadsheet skills for a massive project and i know what page he’s on with kavalier and clay.
or it could be because we’re swimmingly in love, and love has a funny way of making you psychic. i can be working on a project, talking on the phone to friends, or riding the subway, but there’s a babbling creek of thought running under everything i do. and it’s the thought of him.
so tonight, when i emerged from three hours of greek easter service, i was not ten paces from the front doors when my phone rang. and i knew where he was before he told me – on the bus returning from newport to ventnor after a night out with dave. a route, mind you, that i’ve already seen on maps and in his stories. a route i feel i’ve traveled countless times.
perhaps the hyper-awareness i have of his world, the depths to which i crave his presence even if only in particles sent via satellite, fine-tunes my mind to his movements. this could just be the marvel of modern communications that makes me so connected to his cherished body and its place in the physical world.
or it could be the sheer mass of grey matter he’s happily taken over in my brain, that little voice sitting in a corner of my mind, humming his name to itself over and over again and doing little dances.
hell, it could be as simple as the fact that our watches are set to each other’s time zones, an action done independently of each other. just going to show where our hearts are.
or it could be what scientists call telepathy but is referred to in the vernacular as “grinning idiots in love”.
Things People Have Asked About Stuart and Myself That Annoy The Crap Out of Me*:
* please don’t take my insults personally if you’ve asked me any of these questions. but also don’t take it personally when you fall ass backwards in love and i hurl these annoying questions right back at you.
“so, you met on the internet?” this is usually said by non-bloggers. people who think that all web-writers ever do is have anonymous careless sex with each other and/or psychotic murderers they meet in chat-rooms. what bothers me about the question isn’t the yes or no answer. yes, in fact, the internet was the medium through which stuart and i got to know each other. no, without the internet, we may not have met. but neither of us blog for the express purpose of dating and/or screwing other people. blogging, contrary to how many blog-based couples there are out there, is not nerve.com. so yes, we met on the internet and no, it’s not like that. and oh, if you don’t surgically remove the derision from your voice this instant, i will smack you about the head with my trusty pink baseball bat.
“you were only with each other a WEEK?!” yes. we were. and yes. we fell in love. and no, i don’t care if you think that’s logistically possible. luckily for everyone involved, you’re not me OR stuart. so bugger off.
“how are you going to handle being separated until he moves here?” thanks. now you made me cry. how about this? i’ll wipe my tears on a massive pile of crisp hundred dollar bills you just gave me, and then buy weekly round trip tickets with them.
“are you worried you’ll get tired of waiting?” i don’t know, are you worried we might prove your cynic derision WRONG? back off with the negative vibes, dude.
“what if you meet someone else?” THWACK THUMP MOAN THUD. in case you couldn’t tell, this is the point in the conversation where i start bludgeoning you to death with my pink baseball bat.
“can i have a fry?” i realize this is completely unrelated to stuart, but i’m telling you right now, he’s the only person that is allowed to eat french fries off my plate. otherwise i will bring out the you-know-who and you-know-what you about the head. i’m an only child. back off.
Things About Stuart that Make Answering Stupid Annoying Questions Completely Worthwhile*:
* this is positively dripping with sugar. read on at your own risk and don’t complain to me in the comment box that you’ve got cavities.
my wake-up call every morning. the phone rings, playing frank sinatra’s “New York, New York” and i wake up with a massive grin, grab the phone, snuggle back under the covers, and hear “i love you” first thing in the morning.
the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles. every single thing about his eyes.
the way he’s the only man who can call me ‘baby’ without my wrath.
how we promised each other not to cry, at the airport, and stuck to it. until we were 10 feet apart and distancing with every step. and then i sobbed uncontrollably. but still, we smiled our goodbyes.
how my mother loves him already.
the way he shakes his head a little when just getting into an exciting topic, as if to shake the words free from his mind.
the day we stayed in bed until four, eating milano cookies and telling stories.
the look of utter delight on his face as we stepped out onto the balcony of the ferry and watched new york sliding towards us, across the water. and how it’s now our town.
his smile, the very first minute we met. and every minute after that.
the cat *meeeeowwww* is outta the bag
i have a greek-bred superstition about broadcasting good news before it’s set in stone or already happened. but since my shiny new publisher-man has decided to publish the list of bloggers included in cyan’s first book, let me just take this opportunity to say:
wheeeeeeeeeee.
i wonder if people ever get used to the words, “hi, we’d like to publish you”. does salman put down the phone, rub his wrinkly forehead and sigh with boredom? do any of the many johns groan inwardly at the words “bestseller!” and “brilliant!”? does james patterson, at this point, hate the sight of his name in gaudy raised letters at airport bookstores? on second thought, he should. james patterson, stop writing. seriously.
i have always wanted to be a writer. as a child, i made little daily books for my family, writing down carefully the day’s events and copying them meticulously before stapling together the various pages and illustrating it. then i’d have a hugely successful wide-release throughout the house and celebrate with skittles. my mother looked at me with sarcasm when i told her, in my teens, “i think i want to be a writer.” she sighed exasperatedly and said, “you’ve always been a writer. that’s what you’re going to do.”
and here, this little blog that i started so off-the-cuffedly, is bringing me to a path i had almost given up on. thanks, guys. thanks, josh. thanks, brain. and here i go. step one, how are you doing today?
a small poem
“Among the men and women, the multitude,
I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs,
Acknowledging none else—not parent, wife, husband, brother, child, any nearer than I am;
Some are baffled—But that one is not—that one knows me.
Ah, lover and perfect equal!
I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint indirections;
And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the like in you.”
- Walt Whitman
i read that poem for the first time at sixteen. a week ago, i read it to you in bed. and i meant every word.
