absence makes the heart grow

I'm not [just] talking about the romantic heart.

I get so immersed in what I'm doing, the people surrounding me -- I start to love everything for what it is, at that moment. And when traveling, that love is intensified to the point of almost-heartbreak. I don't forget about my life prior, but I do start to doubt it. Mostly, I doubt it's veritability (is that a word?).

And so, getting back to so-called-normality is hard (for me). Whether thinking in terms of career goals, relationship successes/qualms, or something as mundane as apartment location... it's simply difficult.

The insecurities tend to mount, and I use those nagging voices as evidence for all that may or may not be wrong. I can talk about it, but people tire of hearing my voice say the same damn thing over and over and over again.

Here we are: another transition time with another complaining manifesto.  Only, now I'll acknowledge it for what it is -- a temporary discomfort that will fade.

I guess the only new thought I have this time around is regarding where, exactly, the truth lies.

Is it in the present-day stripped down version that feels so wrong? Or is it in the day-to-day relative ease in which I live my life? Or ultimately, is it somewhere in-between?

Finally, assuming the latter is probably the best option (as the median almost always is), how is it possible to figure out the details that should stay and the ones that should go? 

China: The Boiling Point

China:

"TWO MINUTES!!!!!!"

And then, a frantic run around the corner to the plane. I stuff my ticket stub into the hand of a disbelieving Chinese flight attendant and sprint onto the plane. Then, the jamming of luggage into the overhead bin and seat in front of me, and I collapse into my chair. I fall fast asleep before the plane takes off; Dramamine to the rescue.

Earlier that morning...

We have a 5am bus call, for a 7:20 flight. That's pushing it, I think, but hey -- all 70 of us are quite experienced with traveling now, and even traveling mishaps -- we'll be fine. It usually takes us 20 minutes to load the luggage and get seated -- we should be on our way by 5:20.

5:30: 4 people still aren't on the buses (including the Personnel Manager). Phone calls to hotel rooms begin.
5:45: 3 people still aren't on the buses. Their rooms are empty, luggage mostly gone; their location is a mystery.
5:55: We leave for the airport. The 3 missing people are left behind.

6:30: We get to the airport, and frantically begin checking in. We use the self-checkin to get the tickets, but still need to line up to check the luggage. All 70 of us.
6:40: We're at the front of the line. We all have our tickets. With any luck, we'll still get on the plane. My heart is beating fast; this kind of anxiety makes me crazy, and I can feel my hair turning grey. It's going to be a bitch to pull out later.
6:41: A middle-aged Chinese lady comes right to the front of the line with 12 people in tow. She hands the 12 IDs to the attendant, completely cutting the line. We all shout "NO!" but she does it anyhow. The attendant takes her IDs.
6:42: I see our tour guide/translator and call to her. "Alice! This lady cut in front of us. We're going to miss our damn flight." I wouldn't care; it's not my problem per-say, except that missing the flight means we're going to be stuck in another airport for the entire day, and most likely we'd still have to play the concert that night.
6:42:30: Alice comes to the front of the line and tries to talk to the lady who cut in front of us. The lady simply doesn't respond. I tap her on the shoulder. She doesn't turn around. She's getting her way by ignoring us. WHAT THE HELL? This would never happen at home -- people line up in a line because it's a LINE, and you wait your damn turn.
6:44: It's clear we're just going to have to wait for her to process all 12 people and their luggage. Boarding for our plane ends in T-6minutes and we still have to go through security. I hate everyone.
6:45: The lady makes the mistake of dropping her water bottle and some papers. I kick the living SHIT out of her water bottle. It slams into her legs and then bounces to the counter wall. She finally looks at me. Her look is one of disbelief and hurt. I feel horrible. I lost my temper and this poor lady doesn't understand why.
6:45:30: Alice decides we should try to use the group check-in downstairs. We all troop down the stairs, tripping over luggage barriers.
6:47: We're at the wrong airline's group check-in.
6:51: Luggage lined up by the correct counter with no tags, but with the promise that they'll get on the correct flight. Hmm. Head up to security. I'm one of the first in the group.
7:02: Just about through security. I hadn't had any problems with my flute on any of the 100 billion flights we'd already been on when traveling up and down China for the past 2 weeks. This time though, the guard decides it's necessary to look through it.
7:04: He finds the little screwdriver I keep in the flute case pocket and holds it up. I scream "It's just for the flute. I'M GOING TO MISS MY FLIGHT. LEAVE ME ALONE!" He looks startled, but shrugs his shoulder and looks toward his co-worker. I grab the screwdriver and shove my flute back into the over-stuffed Altieri bag. I start running down the terminal toward the gate, just hoping no one comes after me with Chinese handcuffs.

Since I was first in line (surprised?), I had already been instructed to try to hold the plane, to stand in the doorway if necessary.

7:05: I get on the people-movers and begin my full-out sprint. Of course there are people in the way, and since I don't know how to say "Excuse me" in Chinese, I just continually shout "NI-HAO! NI-HAO! SHEI-SHEI! NI-HAO!" (Which means, of course, "HELLO! HELLO! THANK YOU! HELLO!") I'm running down those corridors like a lunatic, thanking previous coaches for the track workouts.

7:14: I get to the gate and say, while gasping for air "LOTS MORE PEOPLE. COMING. SOON. PLEASE." I get the nod from the flight attendant and she holds 2 fingers up. My eyes widen and I run back to the corner of the hall, leaving my carry-ons on the floor next to the gate. I shout toward everyone else tumbling toward me...

"TWO MINUTES!!!!!"

So, we made the flight. And somehow, so did our luggage. It was a Chinese Christmas miracle, I think. But, I felt horrible for the rest of the day. Stress and sedatives combined with lack of sleep and having to perform will do that to you, I suppose. But even more than that, I was ashamed at my lack of control. From kicking a stranger's water bottle, to screaming at a security guard, to the maniacal run through the airport, I simply boiled over.

We all have our buttons, and lack of organization is definitely one of mine. Two weeks of dealing with misinformed schedules had taken its toll. I couldn't handle it anymore. The nightcap or five of baijiu no longer helped calm my nerves and I just lost it. I had been operating very close to my breaking point, and when that lady cut in front of us, all the pushing and shoving of the past two weeks came to a head -- I was PISSED, and I was no longer going to accept it.

As one of my best friends from the tour said, I was "having a moment."

But, there are better ways to handle things. I have to be better at handling things. No one else kicked water bottles, so why did I?

The China tour was great -- I met some absolutely amazing people and musicians that I hope stay in my life for a long time to come, and I experienced a part of the world about which I previously knew almost nothing. I don't regret going.

I hope though, that I learn from some of the harder parts of the tour.

Lessons learned:

If something seems sketchy and/or disorganized, it probably is; trust your gut. I'm inspired to take dance classes. I won't take nearly as much bullshit; I won't be walked on anymore. Keep your cool; nothing is worth that level of stress. Enjoy the music, no matter what the circumstance. Environmental laws are good. Trying new food is always a nice thing to do, but once in a while you (I) need some simple yogurt and fresh brewed coffee.

After that fateful day at the airport, I became known as "The One Who Kicks Babies." Gotta love rumors within small groups of people... (I admit: I kind of cultivated that one. I thought it was hilarious.)

Oh, and those 3 missing people? They met us the next day in the next city. They had changed hotel rooms because theirs smelled like ass, and of course there was no paper trail. Every hotel room door had to be pounded to find them.

The best part? There are several more just-as-insane stories. It was quite a trip.

What We Have

I spent today rehearsing for a tour to China with the Camerata Philadelphia. We leave Tuesday and we're gone for 2 and a half weeks.

The rehearsals were in a school outside of the city -- a middle school that had facilities many times better than my college. Basses and cellos lined on side of the hall leading to the multiple rehearsal rooms. Sound-proofed practiced rooms were on the opposite side, along with more string instruments. I heard they have 2 alto flutes and a bass flute, just in case they ever need them.

The actual rehearsal room had admirable acoustics, with signs lining the wall about rehearsals for hand bell choir, regular choir, jazz ensemble, marching mand, wind ensemble, and orchestra. (It's entirely possible I'm forgetting a few.) Where I'm used to seeing old, ratty cardboard cut-outs about what a quarter note means, this school instead had glossy posters of musicians from the Philadelphia Orchestra, and pictorial progressions of instruments.

The music department at this school leaves little to be desired. I'm willing to bet the science lab is thoroughly stocked, that the drama department is thriving, and that there is a yearly art show in their very own gallery. The bathrooms have automatic flushers and faucets.

It's a dream school -- a dream middle school, if such a thing can exist.

Seeing a dream made into reality should be something that feels good -- these kids get amazing opportunities, and that should make me grin.

But instead, I looked around the school and then looked out the window to the town -- at the yarn store right next to the paint-your-own-pottery store, which was right next to the custom tailor... and I just felt a little sick.

I go to Camden every week to teach for the orchestra and those kids have nothing. They don't even realize they're less than 3 miles from Philadelphia; their school is directly underneath the Ben Franklin Bridge and most of them have never crossed the river.

I don't need to go into the way-too-offhand comments I hear each week about family life and jobs and living situations. I don't need to mention the lack of facilities or SOAP or learning materials. Because you know what? The kids in Camden are doing alright, at least right now they are -- they're young and eager and they don't yet know that they drew the short stick. They're learning and they're happy and I love getting to influence their journey, even if it's only a tiny little bit.

I guess it was just a smack in a the face -- a realization that I'm a spoiled white kid about to go to China to play the flute, and while I certainly didn't grow up in the affluence of the dream middle school, I'm also a lot closer to that than I am to the New Jersey counterpart. So, I can't look down my nose at suburban paradise; I can just hope that the kids there realize how lucky they are, and that they won't assume it's just a birthright.

Also, I hope their orchestra sounds good.

The Dinner Party

I 100% stole this Dinner Party idea from The Bloggess, but after reading her post, I couldn't help but think about who I would invite to a party at my home.

You're having a dinner party, anyone can and will come. I made mine a dinner for 10 (8 people, plus me and a date). I tried to think about not only who I wanted to meet, but also who would spark interesting and productive (but not dinner-ruining) conversation. Some of the people would clash, but I'd just make sure they were sitting at opposite ends of the table. I'm that good of a host.

First, DEAD:
John Steinbeck
Leonard Bernstein
James Dean
Bobby Fischer
Christopher Hitchins (yes, I know it's only because I was reminded of him today)
Steven Prefontaine
Christopher McCandless
Igor Stravinsky
(Why are they all male? Completely unintentional...)

FICTION:
Quenten Cassidy
Howard Roark
Cassie Maddox
Mrs. Dalloway
Cathy/Kate Ames
Lisbeth Salander
Rhett Butler
Pippi Longstocking (with Humbert Humbert as chaperone)

ALIVE (can we make this happen, please?):
Susan Sarandon

Jon Stewart

Tonya Harding
Condalisa Rice
Dan Savage
Diane Rehm
Elliott Carter
Donald Trump

Thoughts? Your list(s)?

I have this grandmother

Well, we all do[did], right?

This grandmother of mine, she lives about 10 miles from me, or a 30-40 minute drive in Philadelphia traffic.

She's one of the most intelligent people I know. She's a champion rower, a violin maker and repair-person, an Ivy League graduate... Most of all, she has always been fiercely independent. She has a wonderful sense of humor and (aside from one childhood incident when she told me to stop fighting with my sister on a car-ride and my feelings got hurt), she has been nothing but kind.

She has had a hard life. She grew up in Nazi Germany; she had little-to-no communication with her father during war time. Her mother sent her away to a boarding school and made it clear she wasn't wanted at home, excepting school vacations. She's prone to depression. She has an addictive and obsessive personality. She went through the traumatic death of her [now beloved] mathematician father, suffered a tumultuous divorce, dealt with debilitating migraines through the middle age, and amongst other tragedies, eventually succumbed to the temptations of prescription drugs.

She's recovered from the latter now, and amazingly, she seems to have figured out a new start to her life at age 80+. But still -- (and this is entirely my judgement) I feel like she could have done so much more and it's hard for me to watch someone extraordinary live this ordinary end to her existence.

For the past few years that I've lived in Philadelphia, I've had a resistance about going to visit her... it's not because I don't love her, because I do. I want to get to know her better; I want to spend time with her before she dies.

And so, I wasn't really quite sure why I was having such a hard time fitting in the visits. It's not pure selfishness, because I certainly do many other giving and unselfish things for my family and friends.

Then today, on my drive to work, I realized something that kind of made my head explode.

I'm just like this grandmother.

I've always associated myself with my mother, and my mother's tendencies. After-all, I look a hell of a lot like my mother, and I certainly seem to have followed in her footsteps. As a psychiatrist aunt once asked me, "How does it feel to be repeating your mother's life?"

And so yes, I get a lot from my mother, and that's not a bad thing. But then today, I realized how similar I am to my dad's side of my family too, especially his mother.

I'm prone to depression and, to some extent, migraines. I'm smart, even if I'm not as smart as her. I'm obsessive, sometimes to a fault and sometimes to my benefit. I certainly have an addictive personality. And of course, I'm independent until I trust someone else enough to let them in.

But, mostly... I'm so scared of not doing what I want to do with my life. I'm scared of the years passing by and looking back from the confines of a retirement home and just not being sure what I did, if I loved or was loved, and if I gave enough of myself to the world. I want to make a difference, not because I want to pretend immortality, but because I know I have something to give.

These paternal grandmother characteristics are not all bad -- they're just... volatile. Combined, they have the ability to create something wonderful or dissolve into tragedy. They are who I am, and I have to figure out how to use them to my benefit, so they don't end up consuming me.

I'm not saying my grandmother has been unsuccessful... she has experienced a full life, I'm sure in many ways that I can't even begin to conceive. I'm also not saying these are new or original thoughts; Of course there are many people just like me and just like my grandmother.

It's just that I [now] see so much of myself in her -- if nothing else, I know why it's hard for me to get in my car and visit.

This Is Why I Should Starting Using The Daily Mile Website Again

So many lost workouts... but, as great a UI as the Daily Mile has, I still just feel like it's one website too many to keep updated. I need an automatic updater from my head to my digital life. Can someone install an internal chip, please?

I meant to write the workouts down directly afterward, but then the events of the days got in the way and now I'm having trouble remembering what I did, exactly. Here they are, sans per-mile details:

Saturday ended up being a 2.6mi recovery run in Valley Forge with The Man and some arm weights at the gym.

Sunday was The Man's birthday, so we went on a 12mi (relatively hilly) bike ride and then a quick 1.2mi on the treadmill and leg/ab weights. It was cold out, but not too cold and it (as always) felt wonderful to be on a bike. As we finished, I just felt like shouting "AGAIN!," because biking feels so chest-clearingly liberating... especially when you're doing it with someone you enjoy.

Monday we again ran Saturday's 2.6mi loop, but added a bit, so it was closer to 3mi. This time, no recovery allowed -- we ran it at about a 7:30-7:45 pace. (Well, he ran it faster than that, but seeing him get farther and father away from me made me continue to push the pace.)

Today (Tuesday), I led the Tuesday morning run with my students. We did about 2.5mi, complete with 2 1:00 sprints and 3 hills. It was the last Tuesday morning run of the semester, and I'm really proud of how much stronger everyone is now. As I mentioned (bragged) on Facebook, they gave me a stopwatch for my Fifth Day of Early Hanukkah present, so even though they get grumpy faces and complain about the runs, I know they actually like (or at least appreciate) my drill sergeant routine. We'll keep up the weekly runs next semester.

My runs lately have been shorter, obviously -- but I still feel like I'm pushing myself almost every time, either with weights or running or on the bike, so I believe I'm getting stronger and faster, even if the distance doesn't prove it. I'm heading to NYC for a couple days this weekend, so I'm definitely hoping to get a longer (hilly) run in around Central Park.

You know... sometimes I feel so lost and weird and alone -- as though I just can't possibly function within the framework of society because for whatever reason I've managed to place myself so far outside the 'normal' checkbox. But then, I go for a run and I practice and I write it all down in this little space that I've cultivated since 2005, and... I feel like myself, and I feel like I can get to the next day with a smile on my face. And hell -- sometimes, that little grin is even telling the truth.

I ran a 6:-- minute mile...

Well, not yet.

But, I did do 5 intervals of 9.1mph (1:30) with rest intervals at 7.1mph (1:00). 

That, in combination with 5 hills at increasing grades (3-6%) means a few things...

1) I am falling in love with the treadmill; for some reason, I am able to push myself much harder on the damn machine. It's a semi-abusive relationship, but I've never been one capable of avoiding those.

2) I hate the crappy TV the gym forces me to watch. Every time I leave, I feel a little bit less intelligent. Good Morning America is apparently aimed toward tone-deaf nitwits. And yes, I'm a judgmental asshole. 

3) I ran 5 'hilly' miles in 41:42. Even with the warm-up and cool-down, that's averaging less than an 8:00 mile. I'm definitely getting stronger and faster, even if I haven't been able to lose weight this week.

4) I am SO sore. Everywhere. Between the weights on Wednesday and the treadmill workout on Friday, I feel a little beaten up. Today is going to have to be in indoor trainer day (I'm too much of a wuss to attempt 40 degree outdoor riding), or maybe an easy run. 

I leave for China in 2.5 weeks. I'll be there for 18 days, touring with the Philadelphia Camerata. I'm worried about how I'm going to maintain any sort of eating/exercise routine. I'm excited for the trip and of course it'll be a blast musically/personally, but I still don't want take a bunch of steps backward training-wise. We'll be in different cities almost every day -- it's a working tour with lots of rehearsing, performing, and traveling. I suppose I'll just have to fit in what I can, and accept that you lose some things as you gain others. 

The Man and I are also planning a trip together in January before school starts up again after I get back from China. We're thinking of going back to the Caribbean; our trip last time got semi-interrupted by Hurricane Irene and Cancun in January sounds pretty awesome to me. It may sound silly, but we're only 7 or so months into this relationship -- despite that we live together, the prospect of not seeing him much for almost a month makes me cranky and (admittedly) somewhat insecure. 

So, transitions generally aren't my forte, and there will be a bunch of them coming up... but, all in all, it's nothing to complain about. It should be a nice Winter Break. 

And you know what? I'm actually getting better at handling change -- I'm currently patting myself on the back for the lack of freak-outs regarding the move, et al. 

Pumping Iron

I've been told that when you lift weights, you should lift to the point of failure, and I have to say... it works.

Both my arms and legs are getting noticeably more muscular, but not in any sort of masculine way.

This morning, I ran 1.2mi in 10 minutes, then did both arm and leg weights.

I'm up to 9x11 reps at 60-100lbs on leg extensions, 4x11 reps at 80-100lbs on leg presses, 4x11 reps at 20-40lbs on a half bench press/half arm extension, and 3x16 reps at 20-40lbs for biceps and triceps. I also did some ab work on the dip machine (10x8 reps).

With each exercise, I couldn't possibly move the machine one more inch; I was grunting like the testosterone-laden jocks just to complete the last set.

Finished it up with another 1.2mi/10min run.

I have a sneaking suspicion my arms are going to be incredibly sore tomorrow, but as long as there is no injury involved*, I'm kind of pumped about it (excuse the pun) -- who doesn't like a little bit of pain?

*Over the weekend, I pulled my shoulder muscle while playing a work-out 'game' on The Man's new XBox. I don't know that it's possible to do anything more dorky.

Glares from Flutists

On Tuesday mornings at 6:45 sharp, I lead my oh-so-enthusiastic group of young flutists on a run around Kutztown. We usually go for about 3 miles, with a steady pace on the way out and intervals on the way back.

Today, I changed it up and made them do hill repeats on the way back to campus.

It was a short hill, only taking about 45 seconds to reach the top.

Still, I got some mean looks, complete with the rebellious stop-in-the-tracks.

It made me giggle, not because I'm sadistic, but because it reminded me of myself when someone else is trying to tell me what to do. It's much easier to be bossy than it is to be bossed, even if you're doing the same damn workout.

Trying Something New

It wasn't anything all that exciting, I guess.

Wait for it...

...

...
...

...

This morning, I did hills on a treadmill.

I warmed up for a mile (9:00), and then did 4x1:00 on an increasing incline with 1:30 flat in-between (2%, 2.5%, 3.5%, 4% incline) at 8:27, and then 4x1:00 (2.5, 3, 3.5, 4-5) at 8:06.

I cooled down for a mile at 8:30-9, and then did one last hill at 5% at the very end.

I expect to be sore tomorrow, but for now, I'm loving the way it made me feel afterward (complete with the nap an hour later).

I realize it's only day 2 and I might eat my words very soon, but right now I'm just wondering: why did I wait so long to really try to get in powerful shape?

It has nothing to do with being stubborn, I swear.

Dammit E-Speed, You're Too Inspiring

I want to try to run a marathon. Yeah, I've 'ran' a handful of them already. I can plod my way through the 26.2 miles in 4 hours or less (3:59:47, to be exact).

But, this time around I want to do more. I want to take the next year to really train as hard as I can. I'm currently able to run 10-ish miles at the 9:09 (sub-4 hour) marathon pace. A couple of months ago, I stumbled through a half marathon with little-to-no training in 2:03. I can run 5 miles at a sub-8 pace. I'm in relatively good shape weight-wise, but I could still stand to lose 10-15 pounds if I want to be faster.

So, by next year's Philadelphia Marathon on November 18, 2012, I want to see where I can be and what I can do. Coincidentally (or not), I'll also turn 31 on that day.

I'm hoping for 3:30-3:40. Of course, we'll see what happens, but I think I can do it. I'm certainly living in a great area for it; Valley Forge, with its access to the bike path and state park, is wonderful for everything running related: hill repeats, speed work (1/2 mile increments marked along the path), trail running, and of course long runs. 

Today: 5.31mi, increasing speed each mile from 9:09 the first mile down to 7:07 in the last mile. Leg/ass weights: 3x8 reps (80lbs, 90lbs, 90lbs). Abs on the dip machine.

Tomorrow: Planning on biking into Philly, if its warm enough. If not, a 'long' run of 8-10 miles.

Any suggestions as to training plans, routines, etc would be appreciated. I know how to train for a marathon, but since I have a year, I want to first get a really strong, fast base before I start officially building toward the race. 

Chick Flicks Be Damned

We're constantly fed these narratives about how we're supposed to feel.

We should want to find the man that thinks you're absolutely perfect. We should want to marry that man and down the road, we should want to have kids with that man.

We should want to live happily ever after.

I just finished unpacking after moving in with The Man. I don't know what I feel. We're having a good time; I love getting to know the intricacies that are him. But, I'm also scared. Anticipatory.

Maybe it's better to keep a bit more rationality in the midst. I know it's not perfect, but I don't expect to find perfection anymore. Mr. Right is not a reality, but the Right Relationship is certainly plausible, given you're willing to accept the framework.

I admit: sometimes I'm willing, and sometimes I'm not.

But right now, it's Thanksgiving break and I'm so happy to have a few days to adapt and enjoy. It might be a bumpy next couple of months, but regardless, I'm thrilled to forge into this new chapter.

From 0 to 60 in 10 seconds or less.

My flute students were so great in their chamber concert tonight. They made music, and it brought (more) tears to my eyes.

I'm the first to admit that sometimes teaching feels futile, but tonight made me realize how much my students are improving; this is not due to me, but because of their hard work despite the many 'artistic moments' throughout the year.

So while I think that it's nothing to take personally, I still felt an inkling of pride. They are becoming artists, and at the very least, I'm here to see it.

Living the Dream

Nothing is as dramatic as my head can make it.

I'm strong, happy, healthy, and in love. I'm making a living as a flutist. I live in a National Historic Park and get to stay in the city whenever I want or need. I have good friends and bad friends, each important in their own way. I have two beautiful cats that cuddle and scratch who are also each important in their own way.

I'm giving a recital tonight with a wonderful pianist that I respect and admire.

I like the way my life is coming together, but the best part is that there is still so much more to come.

Pros and Cons

What you give up:
The normalcy. Normality. Whatever the hell you want to call it.

Not just the status quo, but more-so the hope of ever fitting in, of ever being able to relate to people in a way that doesn't ostracize yourself, that doesn't make you an outsider perpetually standing just beyond the girls' circle at lunchtime recess.

Security, or at least a certain amount of it.


What you gain: 
The relationships, or at least that's the hope. The ability to have and hold the people you love, without guilt, shame, or self-loathing. Knowing that you can be inspired by so many more people in your short little life.

Honesty and something that can last.


What I miss, regardless:
Being cherished. Feeling loved, completely.  Compliments. Feeling good enough.


What I appreciate, regardless:
Patience. Willingness to change and try. Honesty. A lack of fear. Self-confidence. Persistence. The arms at night, a smile when I walk in the door.


Dammit, I don't know how to parse my way through this alone. 

Two beers and fish tacos means I'll tell you anything.

Wow, I've turned into a cheap date. Really, 2 beers and I'm ready to take Advil and head to bed? Either I need to eat more or I'm really getting old.

Okay, so the part that petrifies me:

I'm scared he'll get tired of me. I'm scared I'll get tired of him.

I want the closeness, I want the ease of companionship and compatibility, but I absolutely do not want a relationship that is a sexless friendship. I want a boyfriend, not a roommate.

[Right now] I don't need the marriage certificate or the forever-promise, because I don't particularly believe in either one, especially after a mere 6-ish months of dating. What I do need is something that feels as though it progresses and moves toward a life with someone that I love. And, here's a definite step in that direction.

So, I'm happy. We spend the weekend together [nothing special, just practicing and home improvement] and I have to stop myself from feeling starry-eyed, because that would be simply silly -- no one needs such insistent blinders. But still, I enjoy the time we spend together and I'm excited about living with him.

We don't have a hetero-normative relationship. We have something that would threaten a lot of people. Hell, sometimes it threatens me. But still, it's all within the confines of what I value and who I want to be; I look forward to watching the relationship grow and meanwhile, I look forward to growing a bit myself.

I definitely don't completely know myself yet (and have never claimed as such), but I think I'm getting to the point where I begin to understand what I want, what I can have, and how the two meld into something that can resemble reality.

To begin: a move.