brisk

: the one gray hair separated onto his brow

: the second visit, which sparked a physical reaction

: his request that we take a smoke break

: his laughter; lots of it

: that I shouldn't

: that I want to anyway

: his lack of things I consider terribly important and therefore compelling in their absence.

: the banter, the sort that is difficult to even recall word for word, phrase for phrase, subject to subject

: he arrived early today and was it a reference to something I said, a chiding I made, the last time we saw each other

: "there's a lot of life to live, you have to be awake for it though."

: then today, [sarcastically] "I'm saying yes to life, Christine."

: frought with the intent to impress him,

: I am left pink and embarassed.

the first crocuses

it's been an eeyore kind of day.

so this is what it's like to be 30. exhausted. tired. full of warmth, lacking vigor. I don't know, maybe it's just the last couple days and attempting to recover. or the disappointment that there was no big peal of proverbial lightning (though it did storm right before my party) where life made any more sense than it already does.

but maybe the thing that I never realize is that I know exactly what I need to know.

the intuition has been quite vocal these past few days and I feel its burdens, it's grousing, it's voice screaming, and though I want to acknowledge that it is true and right, I find myself very opposed. I find myself rigidly turning the wheel of politeness and conceding to societal demands rather than honoring myself and my word. as paul put it, be glad it still talks to you.

my birthday party was a rousing success. except for that I felt like I couldn't spend time with anyone, it was a lot of fun. I'm still not sure how many books I received, but I did get a nice pile, and some bookstore gift cards and it was very nice of everyone to play along with my idea of giving me a copy of their favorite book.

I feel a great urge to get a start on the many things I have tabled in favor of turning 30: my daily writings, my taxes, my apartment being a mess, my laundry, painting my toenails, trying [in vain, I suspect] to go to Prague, editing my writings [my march goal], taking the GRE, applying for grad schools, etc.

I have set up my blog to accept texts and photos from my cell phone. this should be either interesting or dull, depending on the day. I like the photo option quite a lot.

that is all.

they say it's your birthday. happy birthday bach.

the object in question

whispers along my spine

a piece of artwork left for display, left to the public, left for us to consume.

as we wandered past, I pointed it out with glee.

he barely shrugged and continued to speak, pontificate, glorify.

and I was less than enthused,

the art was removed the following day, Monday, the day of getting back to work, the day of business being accomplished, the day of cleaning up the weekend's mess.

and I witnessed it, and created proof of its existence, and it was a moment of solipism. and love for its maker.

I know, I know: Where the fuck have you been?

bah. spring is almost here.

wreathed in smells and glances

his eyes find mine and there is something between us. he is who he is and there has always been that hard stare between us but this time I am bolder, this time I am full of myself, brimming over with joy and love and confidence,

I spent the morning planning the words I would say when our paths crossed again and it was gonna be perfect.

and then,

he was looking for her, and I sensed the bond between them, but I wondered if they were just good friends. then he asked about her and someone said who's she? and he said, she, she, and he glanced at me and then away, she is my wife.

and for a flicker, my smile fell, and then came back, lit up, brighter, wider, overcompensating for its faltering.

later in the evening, long after the flow of life had ended, where the feeling of time slowed, the empty room cleaned of all evidence of them, all that was left behind were his things: knit hat and scarf and his coat, heavy with keys...

and the smell of him floated out of them, a thick smoke of nighttime smells and incense, a smell I knew was his and before I could consider what I was doing, I picked up his scarf and leaned over, cautious, secretive, and I inhaled his smell.

I have always been swayed by smells, the odors of men have sparked a chemical dependence that I could often not reconcile, and this was no different. [she, she, she is my wife.]

as the evening ended with all of us in a circle exchanging goodbyes, I realized that they have a certain thing about them, they are so comfortable with each other that I'm sure people ask them all the time if they are brother and sister. they look like two parts of a whole. that made me glad. despite the lingering looks we shared, looks that gave me hope for something with a like minded man, it made me glad that they fit together. that gave me hope too.

as the rest of festival wore down, and my face emerged again, his eyes found mine, his smile opened, and he waved at me, from across the room, the first time that he took a moment from his role as organizer to acknowledge me with more than burning eyes.

the evening found him at the microphone, announcing his departure to Germany, for her [she, she, she is my wife] and I hoped that one day, one day there would be a man who would glow for me, a man who shared his time under the stage lights with me, a man who would announce to a roomful of strangers his profound love for me.