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Location: Home.
Pretense For This: I'm "ill".
Listening: "Life In A Northern Town" ~Dream Academy.

So here I am, on a Monday, at home instead of at the office. The pretense is not entirely that--I was horribly sick for the majority of the morning and afternoon yesterday, the result of a little too much to drink at Austin's barbecue the night before (and a piece of older pizza I unwisely ate when I got home). However, I'm feeling much better now and could easily be at work. The reasons I'm not are as follows:

1. The not having a vacation since I moved here is really taking its toll.
2. The boy I happen to be in love with is leaving for almost a month on Thursday night.

Looking at the arrangement of those reasons brings me to why I'm writing. See, reason 2 is actually reason 1. Peter is leaving Thursday night and I'm very conscious of the amount of time between then and now. I'm going to miss him. I don't grudge him going at all--that's not it. "It" is that I realized that I haven't spent a day or night without him in six months and the change is going to be surreal if nothing else. My reaction really bothers me, but I'm not sure why. I lived alone very happily for eight months prior to him moving in with me. I'm very capable of doing so and not moping myself to death. I'm an independent woman...etc. etc. ad nauseam.

Pish. I think the truth of the matter is that I've become so attached to the notion that, as an "independent woman", I don't need anyone or anything--the "lone wolf" syndrome that for some reason became such an important part of my personal mythos for so long. It's only that, though--a state of mind--and this has little to do with the mind. I have a very hard time admitting that.

I have no idea when the notion of being in love with someone and, as a result, being vulnerable in the face of that emotion, became something to deny or fight or what have you. It's likely a result of the unfortunate consequences of certain of my past relationships (as these things often are). Somewhere along the line, I got the idea of admitting that I'll miss someone or of just telling them "I love you" is unwise. It's showing them your hand, as it were. The notion is ridiculous at best--he lives with me and must therefore have some clue that "I FANCY HIM" (to paraphrase Eddie Izzard). This isn't a game of cards, either. Nor is it war (as one of my exes insisted it always was--and gave me Sun Tzu as a field guide). *sigh*

Saturday night, at Austin and Elicia's house, Elicia asked how Peter and I met. My response was very factual and even-handed. Elicia termed it "businesslike". I reflected on this when she said it and didn't say much more. I started to wonder why it seemed so hard to just say "I met someone unlike anyone I'd ever encountered and knew that I wanted to be with him...and sometimes I'm still so struck by him that I forget to breathe". Maybe because that last part is a little melodramatic, but let's face it--I can be melodramatic about other things and not bat an eyelash. Maybe it was because Elicia is still someone I'm trying to get a hold of, in terms of relating to her. Maybe it was because, midway into my explanation, I realized that Austin was staring at me with a look that told me that whatever I said would revisit me (of course, he was also incredibly drunk, so he likely just couldn't move his eyes) and I didn't feel like dealing with his shit or making my relationship his property. Maybe it was because I didn't want to sound like a fourteen year old--despite the fact that I still feel like one sometimes.

So I think I'll just come out and say that I'm taking today and Thursday off to spend time with Peter before he goes. I'll miss him when he's gone. I'll find things to do and places to go and people to see, but I'll be thinking of him. I'm afraid of this because I feel like it compromises my independence and my classification as "reasonable". I worry that such admissions will make it harder for him to be completely honest with me and I value honesty over anything else. I'm dismayed by that fear because it makes me wonder how long it's been since I've let myself be human and how much of myself I've held back from people.

I have this strange and often disturbing capacity for knowing people that I become involved with on sight. It's incredibly problematic more often than not and I always fight it--and, to date, I've always lost. The morning that Peter and I really spent any time talking--when we both stayed home sick at Williams'--I woke up and watched him sleeping on the floor and knew that I had to get out of the house. So I walked to Von's for ice cream. When I got back to the apartment building, I seriously considered getting into my car and driving away because I knew that if I stayed, I would be signing on for something I wasn't sure how to negotiate. I finally decided to take whatever came and walked back into the apartment with cigarettes for both of us and made coffee and waited for him to wake up. I made a deal with myself then that whatever happened happened and I wouldn't let it shake me. It hasn't "shaken" me per se. I know that I could still return to living alone and be functional that way. However, I also know that it would be very difficult. I'm still "reasonable" on that level. When I went back, I consciously chose not to "make it easy on myself". So far, I'm very happy with that decision. I can still take whatever comes. If I had made it easy, I wouldn't be as happy as I am now. I'm not lying to myself or the person I'm involved with for the first time in a long time. I trust someone else besides myself as much as I trust myself. I haven't dealt with truths like these in years. It's still a little unsettling sometimes.

But I suppose that's part of what makes it remarkable.