The worst possible thing to have at a time like this is restlessness.

You don't get a chance to gather your thoughts, to properly motivate yourself to sleep on it, to wake up refreshed and look at your situation with a new mindset.  If you're lucky enough to sleep sometime late in the small hours, you'll awaken with fatigue and anxiousness.  There's a painfully high risk that the morning will just exacerbate the situation.

I am suffering restlessness at a time like this.

At a time like this, there's one particular question that haunts,

one question that would haunt anyone in my shoes,

"Why not me?  What's wrong with me?"

I'll be better when I'm older;
I'll be the biggest fan of your life.

-- Edwin McCain, I'll Be

-+-

"Love you, Christa."

-- "Love you too, man."

-+-

Imagine that a person wakes up and finds a new message in her text inbox.  She goes on about her day.  She puts off reading her texts as she rushes to get to work.  When she finally arrives at work, she checks her phone.  Her latest text is a five-page rant from one of her close friends from high school.  As she reads it, her heart sinks, "This text is a suicide note."

What goes through her mind now?

What would've gone through yours?

This is the way I spent my morning.  This morning, I had to deal with this text.  I had to deal with this question.  What goes through my mind now?  What do I do now?

First, I was stunned.  I was in disbelief, and I still needed to let it sink in.  Then, one piece of reflection finally made it all tumble down on me.

I thought, "Is he dead?  Is he dead right now?"  Realizing this as a real, tangible possibility shook me to my core.

I walked into my building, overcome by tears.  I had a mental breakdown as I threw my things down onto my work desk.  I texted him with no reply.  I called him with no answer.  The question kept haunting me.  Is he dead?  I was crying so much that I was having tunnel vision, and my hands shook so severely that it took five tries to pick up my phone and call the San Diego Suicide Prevention Hotline.  Is he dead?

I wept as the hotline counselor inquired why I was calling.

"My friend," I trembled, "I think my friend just texted me his suicide note."

She told me her name was Lyn.  Lyn reassured me, "Honey, you are doing the right thing.  I need you to stay calm, but you do whatever you need to do, and I am right here with you."

My morning turned into a two-hour phone conversation with Lyn.  She was incredible.  I struggled to keep myself together, and she reassured, "I don't even know who you are, but I trust you."

I replied in my panic, "And I don't even know who you are, but I love you."

"Oh, honey," she said, "I love you, too.  Now we're going to go on an adventure together.  We're gonna find your friend and see if he's alright, okay?"

"Okay," I sniffled.

"Now, honey," Lyn told me, "I'm going to need you to do me a favor."

"Anything," I said.

"I need you to get a glass of water."

I laughed, "Okay!"

I came back, sipping my water, and told her how I truly felt, "This is the best goddamn cup of water I've ever had."

We laughed together.  We were two strangers talking over the phone about a potential suicide, and we were laughing together.

I read her the text, and she agreed that it sounded like a suicide note.  She decided to call the authorities to check if he's okay.  I read the text to the dispatcher, too -- she also agreed that it was "a hell of a note."  She told me that she would send someone to check on him.  I thanked everyone.

It became the waiting game.  I was there, at work, waiting to hear if my friend was alive or dead.

Then, I checked my phone.

Seeing who the caller was filled me with incredible relief, "Oh god, oh god!  He's alive!"

I picked up, and we spoke in a mix of anger and love.  I told him that I was so grateful that he was okay, but that he scared the shit out of me. I told him to not give me a heart attack like that again.  We argued, but I didn't care.  He was alive.  I didn't know much, but I didn't care about that, either.  It didn't matter.  He was alive.

Lyn gave me a follow-up call.  The worst was over, but I was still incredibly stressed.  I just spent the first half of my workday thinking my high school friend was dead.

She told me, "I have to say.  You are my favorite person I've ever talked to on this hotline.  Who else laughs on a suicide hotline?  You made my day, sugar.  You are the reason I'm happy I came to work today."

I told her, "You made my day, too.  You are the best thing that I could've ever asked for in a situation like this."

She said, "Do you mind taking a consumer survey to rate how satisfied you were with this conversation?"

I replied, "Is there a 'Hell Yeah' raiting?"

She laughed, "Oh, you are precious!  Unfortunately, there's no 'Hell Yeah.'  But you are just wonderful."

"You too, Lyn.  You're awesome!  Bye, thanks for everything."

"Bye, honey."

-+-

Fuck.  I can almost remember when the future used to look bright and I wasn't lying every single time I said, "I'm fine."

and deep down i know this never works
but you can lay with me so it doesn't hurt

- Sam Smith, Stay With Me

-+-

Me: "You are the hero of the entire universe."
Catherine: "Thanks for keeping me humble, Christa."

-+-

There are days where I let writing become lost on me.

Sometimes I write because it tempers me.

I've sat here in front of the blog entry screen before, multiple times.  I've wanted to commemorate being visited by my childhood friends and my college companions.  I've wanted to maybe even update you on the boy with the copper eyes -- which is nothing new, really.  I've wanted to write about friends, about work, about bees, about the future, about all the pent-up thoughts and dreams and worries that I've had bubbling up in my head.  Yet here I am again, waiting until it counts.  Until I write because it tempers me.

Sometimes, writing here calms me down or lets me vent.  It's an incredible illusion, but I've sought for the appearance of invincibility.  I've had it my whole life.  Everyone always laughs, "Christa has no such thing as a bad mood."  I take enormous pride in my work, and putting my 100% into my work involves leaving my bad mood at home.  I can't expect the people around me to give 100% if I can't.  So I always do.  Yesterday was a different day.  Today was yet another.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, I've seen depression -- or these days rather, the cognitive symptoms of depression served à la carte -- get the best of me.  I don't mention it ever (in fact, this is my first time ever admitting it anywhere, albeit cryptically), but I sometimes find myself missing my old poisons, my old haunts.  Not even necessarily as an outlet of depression, but more like the way you miss an old friend without needing to pick up the phone.  The way you miss the drag of a cigarette years after quitting.  It may not necessarily be for any particular reason.  But your fingers tingle, longing just for the sensation of a cigarette filter resting between them.  In the same way, I feel it too.

When I miss these old "friends," I'm at the good fortune of finding myself at a better place in life.  Letting go is much easier than it was a few years ago.  In many ways.  I have meditation, I have my friends, I have my critters -- although admittedly, much of this gets punctuated with alcohol lately (it strikes me as the lesser evil).

A sin that I've finally been able to quell in my new life -- my life after depression, one of self-esteem and confidence -- is my short-temper to what is seemingly failure. Whenever I was told I was a failure, I would decide, "I'll prove them right."  If people critiqued me that I was bad at a task, I would deliberately bomb it as an act of self-fulfilling prophecy, just to prove them right.  If I perceived people as thinking that I didn't deserve to be happy, I would punish myself and everyone around me.  Just to prove them right.  I let that spiral out of control.  It was a cognitive deficiency that was growing to threaten my life.

That was the aspect of my depression that I needed to get rid of the most urgently.  I've since grown past that world.  Thankfully.  I tried to touch that world again.  I am getting away from it now.  It was a haunting reminder that people don't ever really change.  I thought it was gone, long gone.  But clearly, it still rests inside me.

I think it is without a doubt that this all started with Deuce.  I'd go into more detail, but those aren't details to disclose here.  In earnest, this already is probably already too much.  If I knew better, I'd never even whisper her name.

I'll miss her when I give her to my parents this weekend, but I'll visit her.  I have the feeling that Deuce will ultimately end up being the catalyst for me to start talking to my parents more.

There's a lot I regret.  I regret meeting Deuce.  I regret first laying eyes on her and letting myself fall so instantly in love with her.  The moment she sniffed my hand, I was done for.  I regret things I've said, I regret things I've written, I regret things I've divulged.  I regret many, so many of my recent actions. Somehow, getting Deuce unraveled this incredible chain of events that led to my posting here now.   The list is heavy.

Yet, not for a second do I regret Deuce herself.  For years, I've wanted a pet rat.  A pet rat has honestly been my dream pet, and Deuce is everything I've ever wanted in a rat and more.   She snuggles and cuddles and loves sunflower seeds.  She squeaks when she wants me to pet her, and she'll get on her hind legs when she wants me to pick her up.  And for a week, I get to call her mine.  There is so little time that I get to call her "my rat," but nonetheless, I am so incredibly thankful for her.

She's absolutely wonderful, and I love her so much.  Even though she started most of this, she's also the best thing about this (although not to neglect all the people that have been supporting me through this whole ordeal -- thank you).  I can honestly bitch and whine all day about all the things that have gone wrong lately, but why?  Instead, know at least one thing that's gone so very right.

That's Deuce.

measuring the hurt within the golden rule

- Nujabes, Feather

-+-

I feel like life would be a lot easier if I could just blame everything on PMSing.

Fortunately and unfortunately, I typically don't get the emotional side effects of the human estrus cycle.  Maybe it'll happen once or a few times a year, but always off chance.  Far more infrequent than it is common.

But when I look at a calendar, I know that I won't be PMSing for another week and a half.  I can't blame my emotional state on the rhythm of my body.  I can only blame my mind.

I would say that me being in a bad mood has come to be rarer than a blue moon these days.  After my incredible depression, I have had the pleasure of learning incredible virtue.  Communication.  Patience.  Optimism.  Laughter.  Extroversion.  Joy.  I learned that up is up, and down is down -- not everything is punctuated by a spiral of woe.  Not every ending has to be a sad one.

I've learned to leave the bad mood at the door.  I've learned to chat about stress with close friends and family so it doesn't pent up, and I've learned to compartmentalize in healthy ways.  I've learned to find time for meditation or prayer.  I've learned a lot of ways to be happy, and I've been following those lessons day after day.  I manage to never dwell in sadness for too long these days.  Even at my recent worst, after the break with Alex, I still managed to find silver linings.  It was lonely at home, but it was never too hard to smile at work.  It was never too busy or hectic to find time with friends.

Today, I could only describe myself as "irritable," and I don't remember the last time that I would use that word to describe me.  By nightfall, my short temper was shocking.

He joked, "Okay, you're walking home, then."

"Fine," I snapped, "Fine, I'll walk home."

He searched my eyes for a break, for the laugh behind the joke.  It never came.

He looked taken aback.  He looked guarded, "Are you serious?"

I didn't waver a single inch, "Yeah, I'll walk home.  If you're serious, I'll walk home.  I'll fucking walk home, I don't even care.  If this is the shit you're gonna give me, then I'm fucking serious."

He became quiet, "I wouldn't make you walk home, c'mon."

"Okay, then," I scoffed.  We moved on.

Even as it was happening, I knew that it was irrational.  It was so unlike me.  I replied severely and we both knew it.  I was totally unnecessary, but I didn't even care.

"You can probably tell that I have a short fuse today," I mulled in the passenger seat, crossing my arms.

"Yeah..." he said, hesitantly, "it's really weird, because I think you're literally one of the most easy-going people I know."

"I'm aware," I realized that the octave of my voice was perhaps 2-3 pitches lower than my usual shrill excitement, "Okay, okay.  Sorry.  God.  I should probably warn the students tomorrow that I'm on a short fuse, huh?  Or else they'll probably die.  By my hands."

He nervously laughed, "Yeah, definitely."

I mocked, "Yeah, definitely."

We both acknowledged that I was acting irrationally -- at least I was wholly self-aware of it.  I don't remember the last time I've been in a "bad mood."  Maybe not since I was dating Phuc -- so it's been at least three years.  Jesus Christ, I hope this doesn't come back for at least another three years.  It's reckless and callous, and I know it.

But fuck you if you cross me right now.

lel

I am currently oscillating between euphoria and a panic attack.

I am transcribing it now, because I know that when I wake up in the morning, I will not believe myself.  I must have been imagining things.  What a fool.

These are the thoughts as they come.  I am not asking you to be patient with me.  I am sharing the reality of what I am experiencing.

I don't know how to explain it.  When it started, I was not intoxicated.  I was not in a hugely varied state of mind.  I stared at my face in the mirror.  Then became infuriated with death.  The simplicity of it.  The ferocity of it.

My faith has wavered in the past.  I saw God once.  I was twelve and I knelt before the Virgin Mary, and I saw God in her golden eyes.  I wept.

I saw God a second time.  It was last Tuesday.  It's Tuesday now, isn't it?  So it was a week ago today.  God help me.  God help me, I saw You in that boy's eyes.  I'm not a woman of boundless faith, but God help me, when I looked into his eyes...  Orange spessartite jewels framed by a halo of green tourmaline.  The emerald kissed the citrine-hued hazel in gentle wisps, like the Northern Lights.  Flecks of onyx traced his irises like a constellation.  I have never seen eyes so beautiful in my life.  When I looked into his eyes, I knew I was staring at the craftsmanship of God.  Not a boy who I've ever kissed, not a boy who I've ever even embraced.  Before, I did so little as to take a second glance at him.  Now, I have dreamt of him everyday since.  I don't know how to make the dreams stop.  I am not angry for that.

Live in such a way that those who know you but don't know God will come to know God because they know you.

Then, the contrast.  Today, I looked in the mirror, and for a flash, I saw Death.  I saw Death pierce into the hollows of my eyes.

Then here we were.

I let life occur in slow motion, then in blurs, then in skips and lag, all within half an hour.  My mind precariously wandered between the hollows of Death and the gemstones of God.

Then here we were.

May the Lord rest my weary head.

i should've bought you flowers
and held your hand
should've gave you all my hours
when i had the chance

- Bruno Mars, When I Was Your Man

-+-

Chris: "Golfing is how I bonded with my dad growing up."
Cody: "Me too!"
Me: "Not me.  No one in my family golfs.  I'm the strange one in my family."
Chris: "Christa, you're the strange one here, too."
[I gasp, while Cody keels in laughter.]
Cody: "Oh... that's so true.  That's so good.  That's awesome."

-+-

The more I golf, the more I realize how humble my personal golfing experience is.

I've now been golfing for a little less than three months.  I'm finally at that level of golf where I hit the ball more than I miss it, but I'm 100% still a huge newbie.  I'm useless at using my driver and I have to settle for my 3-wood. I still can't aim. I still can't hit consistently. I'm going to golf with two of my co-workers this Sunday, and no one (especially me) expects me to do well or keep up.   I'm nervous about how poorly I'll do, but I know I love golf, and that makes it okay.

I used to wonder why golf was considered a rich man's sport, but the more I play, the more I understand.  When I started, it seemed pretty straightforward.  There are golf classes at the local community college for only $25/quarter.  I personally started by taking small group lessons for $99/month.  A visit to the driving range costs maybe $6-12 a visit.  I bought a discounted golf shirt from Ross for $15.  Not bad at all.  I could manage this.

I make a decent amount of money as a first-level lab technician.  Not a lot, but enough to pay rent and get by comfortably as a single working woman.  I can go out for dinner with my friends, and if I save up, I can travel to another state every now and then.   It's sufficient, but not luxurious.  I'm happy with it.

I figured I could totally take up golf as a hobby.  Not bad, right?

As I finally passed the "Never Ever Golfer" stage of my life to the "Ah Yes I Do Know How to Grip a Golf Club" stage, it finally became clearer why golf is connoted with wealth.  I started with a cheap $4 golf set at the thrift store when I started out.  Since then, I bought a brand-new golf club set, and my first "real" set -- a beginner's brand for a breezy $150 sale on a $300 set, but a nicer set would've cost about $600.  oh shit.  A nice driver costs more than my entire golf set -- upwards of $300.  oh shit.  Is this what will become of my wallet if I get really good at golf?  Will I be buying specialty drivers and golf balls optimized for my game?  jesus christ

Going out to the range is affordable, but the course itself usually ranges between $40 and $150 per game.  oh shit.  Right now, I'm saving up for my first pair of golf shoes.  Those don't come as easily at overstock department stores as golf attire, but once I get a pair, I'm probably going to feel like Cinderella after she's found by Prince Charming.  Except my Prince Charming is golf.  lol

In spite of this, my incredibly humble golf routine has actually reinforced my adoration with the sport.  I have relatively little, but so help me god, I will rock what little I have on the driving range.  I have my cheap brand beginner's golf set, I have my one and only golf shirt, and I have my little nice clearance-rack puma shoes as stand-ins for golf shoes.  I'll wear yoga pants to the driving range, but I finally invested in my first golf skirt a few weeks ago.  I tie up my hair, I pin back my bangs, and I put on simple earrings.  I add just a little bit of waterproof eyeliner to look half-decent.  I put on my cheap, weathered golf glove that I grabbed from the sports section of Target.  I use the tees that I found for free in a hand-me-down golf bag.  I feel remarkably humble and modest in a sport of kings.

Yet, my tenacity in sticking through it helps remind me that passion counts for a lot. Passion can go a long way, even if my wallet can't always match it.  Sure, I can't afford to go to the course all the time -- others go once a week, but maybe I can manage once every 1-3 months. Through discounts and Groupons, I'll find a way to pursue golf.  The cost to be great is daunting, but I'm still excited to improve at my game.  That's what I love about it.

It's not much, but it's mine.

I love you when you're singing that song,
and I got a lump in my throat
'cause you're gonna sing the words wrong.

- Vance Joy, Riptide

-+-

From December 28th, 2011, the day that Bunnie died:

[M]y Bunnie ... was a goldfish among goldfish.  After all, over her 6.5 years of life, Bunnie was present at every milestone of my adult life.  Because it didn’t matter what I was going through, it didn’t matter what fights I was battling — we always had a standing appointment every morning and night for me to feed her food flakes, for six and a half years.  And she was always punctual.

Thank you, Bunnie.

-+-

If this is any foreshadowing as to what I'll be like in my next relationship, then I will be very impatient with getting to know each other.  I'll want to dive straight into the heart of the matter -- where we're already farting and finishing each other's sentences.

Definitely not to imply that I've even had a date lately, let alone a romantic interest.

Rather, there are two much tinier gentlewomen that have recently become an element of my life.  I am currently hosting two critters for a friend -- an extremely shy little fluffball named Macaroni, and an energetic little lady named Noodle.

They're uneasy with the new surroundings, new smells, new everything, so they've been particularly shy with me.  At every little sound I make, they dart into their little hiding spot until they swear I'm gone.  I really just want to admire them and hang out and pet them, but clearly that's going to take a while.

They make me miss Bunnie.

Bunnie was my goldfish in high school and college -- I had two goldfish actually, but Munchie died before college started.  Munchie lived for about three years, while Bunnie lived for almost seven -- I had no idea what was the lifespan of a goldfish when I first purchased them (I was expecting a few months, maybe a year tops), and every one of their birthdays was a pleasant surprise.  Bunnie died during Christmas break of my Junior year of college, while I was visiting the folks.  My dad always thinks it's because she wanted to die in her hometown.  I always thought that was a whimsical way to think of it.

I didn't experience this quite as much with Munchie, but by the time Bunnie and I knew each other for a while, she would get excited and swim in my direction every time I came home from class.  I spent a lot of time wondering if she was just trained -- these light patterns of the door opening and closing indicate that I'm about to be fed -- or if she knew me.  Was it really all just rudimentary instinct for food, or did she know who I was?  Moreover, can a goldfish love?  When she was a few years old, I could dip my finger in the water and she would swim so that she'd rub against my finger.  Outside of stingrays and starfish in the petting pools at the aquarium, she was the only instance I've had of "petting" a fish.  Could this simple goldfish actually... love me?

In any case, I loved the routine that I had with that fish.  I loved our bond as owner and pet, as Bringer of Food and Perpetually Hungry Goldfish.

So now, where all I'm currently staring at are two blurs of fluff cuddling in a hiding spot, I am feeling super impatient.  I don't want to wait for these pets and I to get to know each other. I want to be in the thick of it!  I want them to already enjoy my company so much, that I'll start wondering if they love me!  I am unreasonably impatient for two creatures that I've barely met.  I already just want to hear their excited tiny paws as they run around, knowing I'm going to feed them.  Right now, I'm just that tall and scary thing that makes a lot of sounds.

I'm sure it'll come in time (assuming that they don't spaz out and die on me), but until then, I'm counting my blessings for the great times I had with Bunnie!

and ed

omg dont even get me started on ed right now, omg i loved that cat omg

and I don't need your deepest secrets
whisper in my ear
'cause I can hear your heart, your heart

- James Bay, Hear Your Heart

-+-

Jacob asked me to come over to hang out with him and his friends.  As I arrived, he was getting sleepy, and he held me as he fell asleep.  His friends were still playing video games and watching Netflix.  Should I... hang out with them?  When I thought Jacob was satisfied and peacefully asleep, I stood up.  In his drowsiness he seemed so flustered by the abrupt scarcity of Christa, and squeaked a sleepy, "Where are you goinngg?"

"Should I, like, entertain your friends?" I said.

Without opening his eyes, he excitedly and simply replied, "Stay with meee!"

This was the same guy who, when we first met, I thought was super aloof and mysterious.  I thought he was 100% bad boy.  I thought he was some antisocial guy with a beard.

So as I held him and slowly ran my fingers through his hair as he fell back asleep, I laughed at the irony --

underneath it all, he was adorable.

-+-

I'm starting to wish that I wrote sooner.

I wish I could've captured the exact moment that I drove down Rosecrans in tears, 'God, god, I miss him.'  I wish I could go back and mentally photograph the way my heart leapt out of my chest whenever he gave me that look, that particular look with the soft smile and the even softer eyes.  Even if I could just hold onto my reaction when he exclaimed how much he loved the honey that I gave him... man, that would've been somethin'.

Oh, if I could pluck those instances right out of time and write them here, I could've shared so much of me.  I mean, I remember them, but now in a fond reminiscent way.  The way that inspires a humble little smile and a nod, 'Oh, those were good times.'  Had I written earlier, maybe you would've seen the crevices of my soul and the pulses of my heart.  Oh, gosh.  You would've seen me so in love.

That's not to say that I'm ungrateful for where my heart rests now.  It took us some time and some tumultuous paths to get there, but I'm also glad for us as friends.  He'll always be the first boy that said, "...but I still want us to be friends," and followed through.  We've even gone to each other for relationship advice with other people, and we've never had to compromise how much we care about each other.

I couldn't remember the last time I laughed so much with someone.  That's what ran through my mind nearly everyday that Jacob was in San Diego this summer.  Moreover, being with him made me feel more than just infatuated or excited.  I felt... safe.  That, I haven't felt with another guy since long before Phuc and I ended.  For me, that was exceptional.  It wasn't even just when he rescued me from the party crowd of Pacific Beach in his new sleek car à la Batman, but it started way back.  That was when I first knew he was special.

It's now been more than a year since Jacob and I met.  The attachment comes and goes.  I sometimes wonder about us, but it's really no wonder at all.

No matter what we are or what we'll become, we're two people that care for each other in a world full of souls.

It's not much, but here is a shard of that.

-+-

It's hard to imagine that when we first met, I thought we were so casual.  I had been on the dating scene for a bit, and by the time I met Jacob, I had admittedly become jaded.  By the time I spent a few days with Jacob, all I knew about him was the deep passion in his gaze, and the gravel in his voice.  That's all I was expecting to ever know about him.

When he first asked me out to lunch, I was taken aback.  'Quality time?  You don't ask some random bitch for quality time.  wtf.'  I remember being so nervous when I showed up to Sanford-Burnham for lunch the day after.  I thought Jacob was way too cool to be asking me out to lunch.  I recall our friend Juan Carlos coming to eat lunch with us, "I'm gonna be third wheel, I don't even careee!"  I was honestly thankful that Juan Carlos butted in, just because I was so nervous about getting to know this handsome bearded man in the flannel shirt.  I especially remember Jacob resting his palm on my knee as we listened to Juan Carlos share an anecdote, and thinking, '...this is kinda nice.'

I remember yelling at Juan Carlos, "You have to come with me!  Oh god, this is going to be my first time alone with Jacob.  Like, just the two of us.  No other interns within a 20-minute radius."  He replied, "So what?" and my heart pounded in my chest as I drove by myself to Point Loma.  I was so fidgety and awkward at the start of dinner.  I'll never know if Jacob noticed how sweaty my palms were during our first real date.  I have no idea when we transitioned from that to what we became.  To him being the boy worth fighting for.  To him being my second love.  All I know is that after a few weeks with Jacob, I couldn't wait to see him after work everyday.  After a few weeks, I already knew that he was the best thing that had happened to me in a long, long time.

...

By our second summer, I now half-expected every hangout with Jacob to be a function of him and his many friends.  Over the last few breaks, almost every time I rolled into his house after work, his friends were already there.   I wasn't picky about it -- they were good company, and I wasn't particular or needy for alone-time with Jacob.

A few days into summer break, Jacob called me while I was eating dinner with Julie, "Come over when you're done!"  When I arrived, I went upstairs, assuming that everyone was drinking in Jacob's room.  Empty room.  Hm.  I went back downstairs, and I finally heard the TV playing.  I walked into the family room, and Jacob was sitting on the couch watching TV.  Just Jacob.

When he realized I arrived, he yelled, "Yayyy!"

I stood there, and I actually had to absorb for a second that it was just him and me.  I didn't expect how excited I became at the sudden revelation that I had Jacob all to myself.  I immediately ran to the couch, jumped onto a spot next to him, and snuggled into his shoulder.  It was such a world away from when I used to be nervous about being alone with him.

"Aw, hi gurl!" he smiled.  We watched TV, but for part of it, I just wanted to admire him.  Every now and then, I was just in disbelief that he was really next to me.

He caught me staring at him and inquired, "What's up?" and I said, "Oops, sorry!  I'm objectifying you!"  He just chuckled, and pulled me in closer.  I was so happy.

It was such a small evening, and it was such a small event in the two weeks that Jacob was in town.  Regardless, that entire evening, I was truly delighted.  I was having the time of my life.

Just from a moment next to him.

I have to say, that's something pretty special.

You know you can't keep lettin' it get you down,
and you can't keep draggin' that dead weight around.

- OK GO, This Too Shall Pass

-+-

old convo:

"kill yo'self"
-- "lol wat?"
"actually, no! don't kill yourself!  if you killed yourself, the average cuteness of a person would decrease significantly"
-- "LOL that's the best. thank you"

-+-

As a new recruit to my pool of friends, one of the more fascinating features of spending time with Daniel is that he is persistently bewildered and surprised at my fascination with bees and honey.

My default is to partake in alcoholic beverages with him (naturally!), and the other day, we went to a bar that I love for its mead.

"Mmm!" I was instantly in love with my glass of Golden Coast Orange Blossom Mead. Daniel nodded, agreeing that he enjoyed its taste. I noted, "It breaks my wallet, so I don't have Mead too often. Mead is so good. It's fermented honey!"

His brow furrowed, "What's with you and honey?"

I looked up, and I almost thought he was joking. Is that... is that a real question? I half-expected him to go "lol j/k," but he never did. He clearly found me genuinely perplexing.

In context, it makes some sense. We weren't close in college, so he didn't know that I hosted a honey tasting at my house's graduation party. He didn't know that I've attended beekeeping classes, and he didn't know about my ever-expanding collection of monofloral and polyfloral honeys. ...Uh, I think. Either that, or he does know I've done all/some of those things and he really just thinks that I'm crazy.

I did mention to him when I was a honey vendor, and shared with him when I first got my Sunday honey job.  Upon mentioning the gig, he just replied, "Does biology pay so poorly that you need a second job?!" and complained about the wages and tumultuous economy of being a biologist. I was puzzled. It seemed so clear to me that I was just in it for the honey.

In any case, Daniel demonstrates continuous confusion with my apiology fascination. Which, at this point in my life, actually strikes me as an foreign feeling. People in my life have either A) known me throughout my ever-continuing honey journey, or B) learned later that I like bees and honey, and just accepted that I'm their friend that really digs honey. Whereas Daniel goes wtf? Almost always, without fail. It's honestly very interesting to me. To me, I'm just very, Of course I like bees and honey. Duh. On the other hand, I actually really understand his reaction. My interests and hobbies are really really weird. I'm pretty weird. I'm surprised more people don't react to my honey collection this way.

During another conversation, Daniel asked, "If you could have any job in the world, what would it be? Assume your level of training or knowledge doesn't matter, and the amount of money it pays doesn't matter."

I replied, my expression unwavering, "Beekeeper."

The same furrow in his brow. He searched my face for me to go "lol j/k," but to no avail. He said with confusion, "Wow, that honey job really got to you, huh?"

It felt so strange to explain my enthusiasm for honey and pollinator conservation.  For many in my life, they would probably think, "Oh, of course Christa would say beekeeper.  Classic Christa."  For Daniel, I explained, "Oh. Um. I took up that job because I like bees and honey."

We then stared at each other for a good second, each of us confused with the other.

-- "=_="
"@_@?"
-- "...@_@!!"
"o_o?"
-- "I LIEK BEEZ"

:D

This ain't love, it's clear to see...
but darling, stay with me.

- Sam Smith, Stay With Me

-+-

-- "That just ain't me anymore."

So... this is what adulthood is like.

-+-

Daniel and I were sitting outside of Lestat's Coffee.  I had my feet propped on another chair, my hands fumbling with my drink.  He smiled, "You're like the sister I wish I had."

I wholly reciprocated the sentiment, "And you're a true bro, bro."

We basically had "Close Friends Boot Camp" over the last few weeks.  When his fiancee recently broke off their engagement, I assured him that I'd be there for him.  So here we were, laughing outside Lestat's Coffee.

After many hours of conversation, I was on my last sips of coffee.  I mulled, "I'm finally pretty happy being single.  I mean, I don't have to clean my room anymore!  I think the prospect of not having to clean my room actually excites me more than the idea of not being single.  That was actually the first thing I thought when Steven broke it off.  I wasn't even mad.  I just thought, 'My god, no more clean room, YES!'  And that's when I finally felt like the single life ain't bad."

Daniel pondered this for a second before shrugging, "Well, your room is still tidier than mine."

I reached for another example to corroborate my claims, "Ahaha, and sometimes, when Steven asked me out on a date, I was like, 'Damn it, I can't go golfing because I have a date tonight!'"

Daniel replied, "See, that's weird.  When I'm dating someone, I always really look forward to spending time with them, no matter how long I've been with them."

My turn to shrug.  I answered, "I get it man, I mean, I still had butterflies with Phuc after dating for five years.  And Steven and I didn't really date, we just went on dates.  But yeah, if I really like someone, that's different."

I looked through my mind for more examples.  I didn't have to look far.

I quickly continued, "Like, when Jacob was in town.  I didn't golf, I didn't go to the gym, I didn't even go home.  I really didn't give a shit if it meant I got to hang out with Jacob."

Daniel chuckled, "So if you disappear off the face of the earth for a week or two, I should just assume Jacob's in town."

I replied, "Ha!  Wouldn't be a bad gamble."

My mind flashed to when Jacob gave me relationship advice back in January, and he told me, "If I really like someone, I don't let anything get in my way to spend time with them."  I suddenly remembered us holding hands as we carpooled to work together almost every morning, even if he would finish work hours before me.  I remembered us both leaving work early and eating tacos on Sunset Cliffs Blvd., watching the waves beat against the shore.  I remembered how his demeanor was so rough around the edges, but then he shyly and gently whispered, "Sit close to me?"

I got into Daniel's car, announcing, "I think Jacob ruined me."

As his engine turned, he curiously inquired, "How so?"

"I mean," I elaborated, "sure, I've dated a lot, but I don't really have interest in dating around anymore.  I mean, the three guys I dated after Jacob didn't work out for different reasons, but it wasn't like it was ever because I was just seeking out flings and short-term dating.  I don't think I can want that anymore.  I think being with Jacob set the bar too high, and now I don't enjoy casual dating as much anymore."

Daniel noted as he sped down the freeway, "That's actually kind of cute."

I leaned against the headrest of my seat.  I was short on words, and the night was getting late.  So, I just responded with a simple, "Lel."

-+-

I read over the message again.  "I'm looking for something more fun and casual."  I stared at it for about a minute.  Then, I deleted the phone number.

...

That just ain't me anymore.