I fell in love all over again. Not from a moment of sun or (oddly), from being cuddled up to the dark man all weekend, or him mixing me drinks, or when first seeing him, but on the last day of a weekend-long friends and family reunion, my head braced on his lap, legs slung over the couch, with him looking down at me with... what? Fondness? Resignation? Amusement? Something between the three. I'd spent most of the weekend drunk on cocktails he mixed me, or snuggled up next to him on the couch, or trying to be subtle while tailing him around the house.
Like any hangover, the despair and horror and guilt lasted a couple of days. I knew I was back on the creature when a brief conversation lit my brain up with the "everything is going to be okay" chemicals, and I slept through the night.
No easy place to run away from this one, and no good way to talk it through with him. Time to grit my teeth and pretend I'm just fine, thank you. I have this friendship with him back: I have the feeling of bone-deep safety. If I've got the grief and the longing too, well, this is nothing new. It can be enough. It will have to be enough.
Everything comes around again, and my job has gone from M&A to doing one of the things I do best: angry, effective right or left hand of a manager. After long talks between my mentor (who I'd hoped to go work for) and my actual manager (who is not allowed let me return to Oregon), they've put me on point on a number of strategic initiatives I'm oddly enthused about.
One is copy-editing and reorganizing the department homepages. Another, I can't talk about.
I guess I can't talk about the third either, but it plays well to my skills.
In the aftermath of the party and the storm, the last month or two of winter is still ahead of us. This next week, the gym calls or a toll of deadlifts and sweat. I've enlisted a friend to go lift weights as pressure towards making sure I actually hit the gym.
Currently circling around a nascent vacation sometime in March - hoping for a road trip. I guess we'll see.