I've been back here a few times to write but have been brutally rebuffed, once again, by the dland busy signal. Argh. Oh well.

Things carry on, I suppose, in their usual fashion: I wake, I coach, I nap, I coach, I long, I eat, I ruminate, I sleep again.... Today I was supposed to see Jay, but he called last night all upset and saying he probably wouldn't be able to make it. I was bummed, but so exhausted after work that I was almost relieved, and called him to say it was no biggie.

I'm reading, finally, The Lovely Bones, by Alice Sebold, and it is, I think, having a profound effect on me. On my state of mind. Or something. I am struck by words and scenes throughout the day, regardless of how long it's been since I read them, and am apt to break into silent tears at the recollection of a certain series of words that cannot be expelled from my thoughts. It is a molasses book...one that sticks to the insides and mucks up all your innards so you're not sure you'll get through the day totally intact. I have always been able to slip into books this way, of course, but this one is more inviting than most, I guess.

I think it's also, in a very tearful, very surprisingly sad way, giving me hope. Each day I grow more convinced that the dead could honestly be holding on and watching. Caring about what's happening. Reacting. Knowing. I am horrified and relieved and devastated and most importatly hopefull. The hopefull counts the most.

A while back I started seeing some quack naturopath at the invitation of one of the Swim Moms. A few hundred bucks that I didn't have later, she told me I don't have MS, but rather a hormonal imbalance that, given time, nutrition, and hormone treatments that she's currently reading up on, she could cure. And while I appreciated her enthusiasm and recipe for a good smoothie, I'm still bitter at how whacked she turned out to be.

Mostly I'm bitter about it because in our second session we talked about Jenny, and she told me that she could feel Jenny in the room. I could, too, but I hadn't said anything. When The Kook told me that Jenny wanted me to know that she's okay, and that one of the reasons she left was so that I could live free of her, I burst into tears and thought perhaps I could finally learn to live with her ghost in a healthy, joyous, celebratory way.

I think of Jenny every word of the way in this book.
In other news, there have been three other boys who have contacted me through the online thing, and who I have eventually told I wasn't interested. One thought the best date he could imagine was to drive around the city in his Porsche at top speeds for hours on end and "chill at the city hot spots" (read: clubs into which I would never step foot unless at gunpoint); one who revealed in an aim session that his "upper management" position for which he had uprooted his life and moved to SoCal is actually called "Assistant Floor Manager" for Sprint Wireless; and one who, after I mentioned the MS in an email, stopped writing.

And finally, after getting waylayed (sp?) in Santa Barbara during the rain storms, I was forced (G-d forbid) to track down BridgeBoy and ask if he'd be willing to keep opening the pool until I was able to get back to town. He said sure, but that I'd owe him. We hung up after he agreed to take the extra time without an on-deck coach to think of an ample method by which to repay him for his trouble.

He called multiple times to check in on me, and we wound up talking a bunch on the phone (like, hours). Then he announced that Payback would need to involve my swimming with him on Thursday night, and then going to dinner at an establishment of his choosing.

We swam on Thursday, and I felt like crap. So much so that I was embarrassed to be in the pool at all. Then, of all places, he wanted to eat at Fatburger. Because he'd never been there. (How can you live here all your life and never even once visit the place where all underage kids with cars go after 10pm when they're drunk and have the munchies???) We drove. We ate turkey burgers. We chatted. We left. We chatted some more. We leaned on his truck. We talked some more....

And then he said, "Well, I've gotta get to sleep," and got in his truck and drove off.

I'm resigned to the belief that he doesn't know what the fuck he's doing, and neither do I. Also that I just can't muster up the gumption to give a fuck these days. I haven't had sex in what seems like a lifetime, and I'm beginning to get jaded about the whole experience.

Mostly I think it's that it's been so long I've forgotten how good it feels. But whatever works.

So, there's the update. More later, I'm sure. I think I'm going to need to put more words down here in the near future. Feel like I'm all bottled up inside again these days, and I need to pour a little out.

I need a sunset and some serious pier time.

Posted by twids at 9:56 pm