jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

Chris Ensweiler is sitting here with us. It’s such a lovely evening. I put together a little Meditteranean spread — bread, goat cheese, marinated mushrooms, baba ganoush, grape tomatoes. And there’s lots of red wine courtesy of Jason Tesauro.

It’s so nice to have an Atlanta friend here, I just want to drop a cage over him and make him stay. That might be the wine talking at least in part.

So much going on at work… some of it very exciting. But I can’t write it down yet, I don’t want to jinx it.

I wish I knew how to put pictures in my journal, because I have some cute ones. My inabillity may have everything to do with the fact that I have a free account, of course.

I love the mornings when Damon sleeps late. I turn on some music and just sit in the living room and read or answer email or whatever. It’s just nice to a) not have the television or “compromise music” playing and b) enjoy the stillness. It leaves me in a great frame of mind when he does wake up and comes out ready to go do something. It’s interesting to see (I guess I could have predicted) that I’m far more of a homebody than he is. But we’re not so far apart that it’s a problem. We spent a lot of the evening last night walking between our apartment and the Square — we went to the bookstore, the movies (Secret Window) and then back later to grab Chris Ensweiler from the train and go to dinner.

What a pleasure to see him. His Dad had heart surgery a few days ago. I’m happy to report that he’s doing very well. But it’s always so scary. There are possible complications (pneumonia, infection) that keep you from relaxing even after the surgery is successful. It gave me lots of flashbacks to my Dad’s big surgery last year. What an awful awful day. And now he has melanoma, and is going to the plastic surgeon on the 31st to get it taken care of. His doctors seem to feel really confident that this is as good as melanoma can be, but I can’t quite get off high anxiety alert until I know he’s clear. I know my Dad spent decades making bad choices. But now it seems like he’s paying for all of them right after he decided to clean up his act. Which makes me so sad.

But enough of that stuff. I can’t change it by talking about it, so I don’t tend to. Actually, only Damon and now LJ, know about the melanoma.

One more note on that, though, actually. I feel like some of my anxiety is selfish. I mean, I’m 33 and I cannot imagine living my life without my Dad around. And it’s not like I actually see him more than a few times a year, and he doesn’t do anything concrete like give me money that would make it literally difficult. But it’s just beyond my imaging totally to not have him to talk to.

Anyway, really, enough of that…

Perhaps I’ll just sign off this entry and start another one later.

I wish someone would come shave my legs for me, because I don’t feel like doing it.

Soon Glenn and Damon and I will head over to Jeff’s house for his party. I’m trying to decide what to wear. It’s a no-occasion event, and I’m guessing it’s going to be on the casual side. Which means maybe I won’t have to shave my legs. I’ll wear a cute pair of pants and a sexy shirt. That should do the trick.

I hope there’s lots of food at the party and not just chips and pretzels. I’m not hungry now, but I’m looking forward to being hungry and then having lots of food. So… just like every other day.

I’m not going to look to see how long it’s been since I updated. I’m going through longer periods now than I ever have before where all my time is spoken for. That is not the complaint it sounds like, though. For example, Damon and I spent last weekend having a ball in New York. And if I didn’t have the job I do, that wouldn’t be as easy to do. So I work a lot, and then I try to have a great time when I’m free.

Also in this mix is knowing that Damon could be gone for months at a time for work. So when he’s around, he’s pretty much got my full attention when AOL doesn’t. And Monday night we start our tango classes. This is my birthday present from him, and it’s perfectly chosen. Not just because I like to dance and I like to learn and we can do it together, but because he’s such a good dancer that I know we’ll look great no matter how awful I am. When in dancing doubt I just sort of cling to him like a monkey and let him toss me around.

In just a few short hours Glenn5 will arrive at Dulles Airport and Damon and I will go scoop him up. He’s going to stay with us for a few days. He’s here to see his friend argue in front of the Supreme Court. I wish I had been able to take the day off and go too, but now is not the best time for that at work. Although I’m starting to suspect the best time doesn’t often arrive. So next time I’ll just jump ship. Anyway, I wish we had a guest room. But we’ve got two couches, so he can alternate if he gets bored.

It is unfortunately chilly again this weekend. I’m eager to get back out into the city. I know that many things I want to do are inside, but I’m being a little bit of a baby about it. I want to walk to everything, not drive. I had the revelation the other day that part of my problem is that I have jackets, not coats. That’s what seven years in Alanta will do. Brenda had to dress me in her clothes when I was in New York.

Speaking of New York, Damon, Brenda, Pierre and I went to see John’s show — Silent Laughter. It’s his first real-deal off B’Way show, with all the trimmings. And he’s got a lead. So he’s overjoyed, as he should be. And my fingers and toes are crossed that it runs and runs and runs. Plus Little Steven sat right behind us, which added a dash of NYC glamour.

It’s been so long since I’ve updated that I’m pinballing around, just noting things. It’s weird, though. I’m listening to music and I keep accidentally typing words that get punched in the song. I’ve moved from Proclaimers to Violent Femmes, so if this takes on a despairing note, it’s just me in lyric lock.

So maybe I’ll just wrap it up for now.

My friend Brit just emailed this poem by W.H. Auden, who is one of my favorites. So I thought I’d share:

As I Walked Out One Evening

As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
“Love has no ending.

“I’ll love you, dear, I’ll love you
Till China and Africa meet
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street.

“I’ll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

“The years shall run like rabbits
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages
And the first love of the world.”

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
“O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

“In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

“In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

“Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver’s brilliant bow.

“O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you’ve missed.

“The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

“Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer
And Jill goes down on her back.

“O look, look in the mirror,
O look in your distress;
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

“O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.”

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming
And the deep river ran on.