Back from a week-long whirlwind of a time in Marion, after an impulsive urge to go nurse my girl back to good health following her wisdom teeth extraction. Wouldn’t you know, I spent the whole time watching chick flicks with her family, trying to envision a music video for R. Kelly’s “Real Talk”, and eating Raisinets. My last night there was one of the best (and blurriest) memories I’ve got: taking notes on Ally McBeal, perfecting my topping-from-the-bottom technique, and an enthusiastic (if abandoned) effort at making a fanvid. None of these are things I ever counted on having with M. Neither was our six a.m. string of promises that still has my head spinning. No sleep that night, and I broke my no-tears resolution five minutes after we said goodbye, but these are good things. Every time I regain my footing, this girl trips me up again – promising things I’d stopped believing were within my reach, smashing down the walls I’ve spent years constructing, making me blush months after I thought we’d done everything two girls in love can do. She lets me sing Angel’s parts when we listen to Rent together. She serenades me with James Taylor in her sleep, and has the sweetest sleepy morning voice. She asks so many questions, she’s charmed my grandmother completely, she chats with cafeteria workers about cultural appropriation and raps really hotly, if rarely. She makes me want to write stupid love songs, and is teaching me to play guitar so that maybe someday I can find some other way to tell her all of this. She’s the bravest, kindest, warmest thing in my world, and even if all these hopes fall through, I flat-out refuse to lose her. I'm wearing her sleepshirt now, and it smells like her sweat and smoke and cologne. It also smells like my cat's breath, from where he licked it just a minute ago. It's a testament to my good mood - and my devotion to Sal - that I find this charming, rather than frustrating. Still, my cat's breath is really, really bad. Some of you can testify to this. Do they make mentholated catnip or something? It seems worth looking into. . .
New Hampshire primaries tonight. Ashley and I made cookies and ate apples with warm caramel and shouted my dad down when he dissed Hillary Clinton. Then we got grumpy when Hillary actually won, after hours spent pleading for an Obama win and trying to spot Chuck Norris at the Huckabee headquarters. Dad sat in his armchair, telling us that the right wing will be collapsed in twenty years, that the Dixie’s already fallen through, that one night’s votes won’t mean shit by next week, but I’m not fooled: history is happening right now, and I’m nothing if not a part of it. This year’s going to be full of change, and all I can do is stumble forward and embrace everything that’s coming my way (and, um, donate to Obama's campaign, apparently). Tomorrow, there will be a double-feature with Ashley, my number-one anchor in Erie. Next Monday, I’ll start my last semester of school in Asheville. Next week, I’ll start EMDR treatment with Paula You-Can-Cope. Next month, I’ll learn which cities are ready to welcome me next autumn. This year, the whole world is going to be shocked by our capacity for change – at least, that’s my prediction. I’ve already surprised myself so much in 2008, and we’re only eight days in. Bic Runga’s about to sing me to sleep, and I can hear the roof creaking from all the rain that might be snow by the time I wake tomorrow. I think I’m finally, finally ready for what I've got.
