CT

When I wrote that I didn't know quite what to say about Chicago, that was a bit of prevarication.

Though I came back from Chicago in a bit of an emotional mish mash, I knew pretty well what I was feeling, and I'm sure I could have found the words - I almost always can - but it wasn't right to post about it then.

When CT came to Ottawa, I wrote that it took a couple of days for us to find our stride. But once we clicked, we really clicked, and we were meshed, tight.

It was the opposite in Chicago. The first couple of days, things were like they had been in Ottawa. But on Friday we switched rooms, and that seemed to be the fulcrum, when, as he wrote to me a few days ago, the rush of touching each other wore off, and we tumbled down into sad realities.

One of those realities being the knowledge that we were never going to last. Were never meant to.

We continued on, enjoying each other's company, seeing interesting things, but there was a unmistakable undercurrent of melancholy. Neither one said anything about it, though as has always been the case between us, we were thinking the same thing.

For my part, I was willing to coast on the surface. I didn't think a heavy conversation about what I was feeling and sensing would make anything better; I thought it would only ruin the time we had left together. We made plans to talk about the big stuff when we got home.

I won't go into the details of why we don't work. Those aren't really important. Though I will say it's not just the obvious 3000 miles. I will also say that as you get older, you realize that love does not conquer all, and never was meant to.

We've decided to not break up, not exactly, but to go on indefinite hiatus.

We'll shift to being friends, which is what we were drifting towards anyway, and maybe, sometime, if it works out, we'll take another trip together. Not to shut the door completely on the possibility of us, but to shelve it, high up.

It's been a lovely 4 months with him. I've learned an incredible amount. It's the first time I've been with someone I felt could take care of me if I needed it, where the hotza wasn't compromised by feeling safe and cared for. He is a kind and thoughtful person, honest with himself and with others, straightforward in communication, able to make himself vulnerable, able to ask for what he needs and accept what I have to give. He is a rare creature, in many ways.

And he always thinks I describe him with hyperbole.

I'm happy that I can clamber up to the top shelf and reassure myself that our possibility is still there, whether we take it or not.

More importantly, I feel lucky to have him in my life, as a good friend, held dear to my heart.

I'm home now, just.

Instead of pulling out my laptop in the airport and fiddling with pictures and starting a post, I started David O'Meara's new book of poetry, a thoughtful birthday gift from the Grs.

This bit

Then the further auctioning off
of towns and hills that flashed below -- going, gone

echoed what CT said on our last trip to the El.

My mouth was set; I was looking at the ground. I could feel him beside me, or dropping back when we needed to move in single file. We were quiet, both of us. Occasionally our suitcase wheels would chunk over the sidewalk cracks in time; occasionally we'd be syncopated. Most often we followed no rhythm I could discern.

"This isn't bad for a stoic death march, is it?" he said.

I laughed, finally.

"No, certainly. Could be much much worse."

"Should give you an idea of how I felt leaving Ottawa, I think. You spend a few days, a week, trying to carve out a life for yourself, and then you feel it disappear block by block."

Truth is, I've been saying I'm going to write a blog post since Saturday. But I've either napped, sightseen or fucked my way around actually doing it.

CT is beyond lovely. He is kind and sweet; funny and thoughtful - so thoughtful! - and easygoing; more willing than I to step outside his comfort zone.

We saw a lot of stuff around the city. The aquarium on Thursday, where I kept jumping up and down and clapping my hands over the beauty of the sea creatures. The Silver Jews on Friday, after a great dinner with Sue. A walking tour of beautiful buildings yesterday. A movie and dinner date - our first real date. We took approximately one hundred rides on the El. Had a fancy drink on the 96th floor; I marvelled at the mist-covered maw of the lake tonguing the bright avenues.

We stayed in a lot too, skipping Pinback last night, going straight home after Ground Nut Stew, picking up a couple of Fat Tires at the 7-11 along the way. We had lazy mornings in bed and hanging around, slow starts to days that often ended late.

It was: busy, great, melancholy, entertaining, overwhelming. All of those words are right, technically. None of them give you the truth.

Truth is, I don't quite know what to say.

Okay, now I'm really really excited. With no melancholy. I think my mood started to lift when I realized almost half of what I was packing was pants removal related.

And also, while I'm about this happiness business, I love:

• eating tasty beet risotto with house friends
• bike rides for vegetables, even when cars honk
• orange vegetables
• being pleased, but not too pleased, upon running into my ex
• traces of campfire on my pillow
• knitting weather
• Winter Gloves

More from Chicago, I'm sure.

Late tomorrow afternoon, I'll be winging my way west, to the mid-west, where CT will meet me in Chicago for 5 nights of sweetness and fun.

We could use it. Not last weekend, but the weekend before, we had a very sad weekend together. I don't yet have details clearance, but suffice it to say, for the moment, that neither of us had a very happy couple of days.

I'm really looking forward to our trip, 5 days doing what we please to each other and around Chicago.

But I don't have the nervous stomach anticipation of last time. For one, I know we'll have a good time both in and out of the sack, and that it will be just plain lovely to see him; that churning anxiety just isn't there. For two, I'm already a little melancholy; I will try my best to feel that now and let it go while I have him close.

Saturday morning was the first morning in a while that I'd woken up rested.

Unfortunately, I also woke up very sad. Though not as sad as I'd been the night before. At least there was that.

I lay in bed for a while, staring at the drop cloths I was still using as curtains, staring at the jaggy bit where I fucked up the line between the blues, dark and light. I stared at the ceiling. I sighed. I petted Freya's head until she shook it and the drool went all over the place. I got up.

Downstairs, I put on the coffee, put the bread in the toaster oven, and flipped my laptop open. I sat down to write CT.

Things have been different since he left. In that space, between NOLA and Camp Hotza, the part of my brain that wasn't taken up with the impending move was taken up with CT. My brain and a few other bits were very focussed on him. I felt the same thing coming back.

He moved a week after he got home from Ottawa. He's just bought a house too, one that needs a lot of work done on it. His job got busy again after a quieter summer. Much of the energy that had been focussed on me was being diverted to other, very important projects.

Too, I got caught back up in my regular life. I had a house that didn't need a lot of Work work, but it is amazing how much time putting up shelves can suck out of a day. I had friends I'd been neglecting. Work picked up again for the end of quarter.

My focus shifted too.

A week after CT left, I smooched the Born Ruffian. And that felt good, so we did it again. And hey, maybe once more before you go on vacation? And then maybe after, too? Mmm, okay.

Before the first post-pride time with the BR, CT and I talked about what we were going to do about us seeing other people. For my part, I wanted to know about any of his dates, but only because I wanted to be able to say "So what are you up to this weekend?" and not have it turn totally weird. He said he needed to know only if something got semi-serious for me. I drilled him a little bit about what he meant by "semi-serious," because I have been bashed on the shoals of terminology before. We came to a mutual understanding pretty quickly.

And then I shut up.

I took CT to mean that he didn't want to hear about me dating unless it got semi-serious. My words became cautious and measured, so careful to make sure that "what I did last Thursday night" didn't come up. I became less present in our conversations.

One of the things I'd thoroughly enjoyed about our thing was that I could say pretty much anything to CT. Early on, we developed the "FREE PASS," and I've sent more than one email with that in the subject line, my heart poured out in the body.

Having a verboten subject made me feel like I'd lost the free pass. Maybe jammed it too carelessly in my back jeans' pocket, maybe swept it up and thrown it out with the cat hair on Sunday night.

Until Friday, this was a simmering unconscious worry. But Friday, oh, Friday it hit me hard.

I missed it, everything. Our easy talks, the focus I'd been getting. The crazy zizz we had on for each other. I felt guilty, too, like I'd been cheating, even though I hadn't done anything like the same. I was sad for the change we were going through, even though I recognized and even appreciated its inevitability.

By about 10 am on Saturday, I had most of that put into a Free Pass. The coffee was half drunk and the toast was crumbs.

For every Free Pass I've sent him, CT has written back exactly the email I wanted. So close, in fact, that if I had written a response for him to give to me, I would have been further off the mark than he was.

He is the first person I've dated who made me feel normal about sometimes being jealous. When he wrote early on "yeah, i was a little jealous, but that just sometimes happens and it's okay," I felt gears that had been clashing slip into place.

In the email he sent back on Saturday, he said "I've been feeling the same way! It's hard to maintain that focus. Please, enjoy your life however you see fit, and don't worry about me, I'm busy and happy." To paraphrase.

Again, the part of me that was all riled and tense about things changing took a deep breath, circled a couple of times, and lay down for a nap. I wasn't wrong: things had changed between us. And it was a change worth mourning. It was okay to be sad.

Reasonable is totally the new sexy.

After I posted my blessings yesterday, I realized I was a total liar. Not that I don't feel blessed, because I do; not that I am not, because I am. But I do have something specific that I am very much looking forward to: a visit with CT in October, over Thanksgiving.

It's been a surprise, this thing that he and I got going.

There isn't really a good name for This Thing. A few people have referred to him as my boyfriend, and I rarely correct them. But it's not a word I've ever used myself.

If the subject of he and I comes up, with him or other people, I describe it as dating. "Oh, I was speaking with CT - you know, that boy I'm dating, the Californian?" We are definitely dating, and have an intimate relationship. We skype chat almost every day, generally email as well, and have video dates when we can fit them in. That's the stuff of a long distance bf/gf capital-R relationship.

But for me the word "boyfriend" carries with it an open-endedness, a sense of possible permanancy, that CT and I have purposefully and explicitly built out of our relationship. Our "we" is a time limited offer. He's not moving to cold-wintered Ottawa; I am not moving to spider-infested Northern California.*

And he is looking for a girlfriend, someone to settle down with. While theoretically I'm open to settling down and being someone's girlfriend, I also kind of figure it's not going to happen.

For my entire dating life, I have been happier when I'm single. Until I can find someone with whom I am just as happy as when I'm single, well, then, there just doesn't seem to be much point. Settling is not a good replacement for settling down.

The hard part is that when you first start dating someone, they seem perfect, you seem perfect in their eyes, you both seem perfect together. So I'm way happier in those first few weeks or months than I am when I'm single.

The balance has always shifted back.

It's hard to recognize when the scales have tipped permanently from "happy" to "not so much;" hard to admit that you're working harder and harder for less and less happy.

I've said often that I want a Relationship Red Light, like the ones you would stick on a regular old car to make it a cop car. I think every relationship should come installed with one, so that when it's over, when it's gone past the point of repair, when happy is never going to weigh more, the light starts up, flashing and twirling, and both people look each other in the eyes, smile, maybe exchange bisous, and go their separate, much more satisfied, ways.

It feels like CT and I have that built in, and it gives me a feeling of comfort and safety. There's no wondering where it will go,** or what's going to happen. There's no worrying if he still likes me or not because well, someday he won't like me the way he does now. It's guaranteed. We will break up. It will be sad. It might get messy. We will be kind to each other.

Surprisingly, I've found myself much more relaxed. There's no worrying about the what ifs, because I know what if. That lack of pressure has taught me a lot about where I've been off the mark in my past relationships. It has also made clear what I want my new norm to be: how much I want to be able to enjoy someone's presence in the present of my life.

*"You had a black widow in your recycling box? Is that normal?"
"Normal? I dunno, it happens."
"It happens? It happens?! Horrible! What did you do?"
"Well, nothing. It got away. But normally, I'd just step on it. It's a spider."
"But what if you found one inside!"
"Well, then I'd step on it inside."

**Though perhaps a bit of daydreaming, now and again.

In the airport, apropos of nothing, I said "I don't think it's conferences. I think it's us."

With CT in NOLA, I'd assumed the sense of severe disconnection from my real life had to do with a new city, a new lover, and the inherent nature of conferences. Now, at the end of our week-long stint at Camp Hotza, I'm not so sure.

Theoretically, I was in my life.

My house, even though I didn't know where half my stuff was. My city, which is much noisier five doors south, but still laid out the same way with the same people in it. My sister in my second city, Montreal, where we ran into more of my friends.

But I found myself wanting to spend less and less time in my life, and instead burrow into the space that CT and I were creating.

We are an unlikely pair.

He had never heard of The Vagina Monologues before. I had to ask why he was excited to see the Easton plant off the highway out of Montreal.

Today, my routine shifts from eating passably healthy food at restaurants to my regular brown rice and greens; from hoping I get enough exercise through walking and sex to the usual pendulum of yoga and running. CT will happily go back to playing hockey, driving, cycling, and pepperoni pizza.

But none of that seemed to matter particularly, not for this trip, at any rate, not for a week. Our Venn diagram overlap involved things that are seriously important to me - in friends and lovers and partners. He is also kind, easy-going, a good communicator, dryly funny. He was a lovely house boy guest, and my home feels that much less cozy tonight.

There wasn't much talk about "We." Both of us are cautious, either by inclination or through experience. There were shy admissions that we'd like to see each other again, a brief talk about how that might work. An agreement that needed to talk more, an agreement that our last few hours together might not be the best time for that to happen.

Instead, those hours were as they should be. We didn't talk much. We touched a lot. Intimately, but not sexually so. I managed to leak only a few tears at the airport. He caught his plane on time.

Poon Watch: *sigh*

You know, it's halfway through CT's visit, and I'm not really taking any pictures. I'm not taking the time I thought I might need to be by myself. I'm not going to yoga, I'm not running. I'm not really blogging, I'm hardly reading blogs. I thought I'd do all these things while CT was here, that I'd carry on with my life, but he'd just be around and we'd chat and laugh and fuck as we saw fit.

A couple days in, I ditched all pretension of carrying on anything normal. As soon as we settled into each other, I started feeling the time ticking down. I'm trying not to think about that too much, about how my chest will ache when I say goodbye at the airport.

But I'm well aware I've only got him for another few days.

After that, we might see each other again. We haven't discussed it either way. Might not is a possibility. Before about two weeks ago, thoughts of any future past the 17th of August made my sternum pull tight in fear. Now I know that flights to D.C. in October are cheap.

Considering that any future, but particularly this future, is an uncertain proposition, I don't care about yoga or blogging or brown rice or my schedule. I just want to soak up as much of him as I can before he leaves.

Poon Watch: No longer blazing red. Very definitely no longer angry.

When Shelley answered the phone tonight, it was with a worried voice.

"Hello?" she said. "Is everything okay?"

CT and I had just gotten back from a long looping walk, where I'd been showing off the best bits of the city to him: the view up the canal, the cats of parliament hill, a long walk down the cliff to the river, along the river through the sunset back home. He was upstairs, rattling around, making homey noises.

"Everything's great! I just missed you."

"Me too! I thought I wouldn't hear from you for a week, so wondered if maybe you were calling for a bad reason."

Driving out to the airport, I was nervous as fuck. CT and I hadn't seen each other in two months, except over skype. We'd exchanged a fair number of emails and chats, but it's certainly not the same as spending 8 days in close proximity to that same person. What if our pheromones didn't like each other anymore? What if he was actually a jerk in person? What if I bored him? What if we just didn't jibe?

I drove out to the airport with my hands shaking, running late. He was kind about my tardiness, but the tight dress probably helped.

Though I haven't talked about this with him, which might be more polite than having him read it over coffee at the breakfast table tomorrow morning, it felt to me like we took a bit to find our stride.

Not that things ever were going badly, but for the first evening and some of yesterday, I felt just a little off kilter, not quite my own self. We're both used to spending a lot of time alone, both used to being single. I don't know if he felt the same first unsure steps, maybe hid it as well as I hope I did.

But hit it we have.

Dear Internet,

I have missed you, and how. The past few days have been trying, but the stomach aches and dizzy spells are gone.

And now? Now my modem is lighted all up in just the right places, my comuter is once more a computer. My house is still a disaster, but it's my house, and it's painted. I blew off the housework this evening to loll about, shoot the shit, and drink single malt scotch with handsome butches. CT is going to be here in three sleeps.

I thought I didn't miss you at all, but here I am, at 2:17 in the am, writing you a note to tell you that I'll never ever leave you again.

xom.