"Hello, World..."

Bella,

Writing you a response to your latest LJ post felt like the most a-propos way of sharing the things that have been on the tip of my tongue for you.

I want you to know that I'm moved by you - your presence, your touch, your smile. That I stand here, at the cusp of something incredibly profound with you, and I'm prepared - I'm ready - to take your hand and jump into exploring the depths of that together.

You say you've tired of quasi-relationships, and I can't begin to tell you how hugely that resonated with me. I'm done with luke-warm false beginnings, and want to seize this, whatever "this" is that we're creating the foundation of, and see it through with intentionality, intimacy, and absolutely abandon.

Join me?

With love.
Sarah

She wrote me a letter late last night,
It said "I'm touched, my Sunbeam,
by your beautiful surprise.
And if I may, my dear,
take a breath to collected my thoughts,
And then tomorrow, we'll share
in fruit and cakes, in the sun on the dock".

I wrote you a letter today,
It said "I think I could quite love you,
and I was hoping that, maybe, you would join me?"

I'm sitting on our dock now,
The one at the lake down the street from my house.
It misses you here -
We were left alone together, people mindful of infringing upon our space,
But now it's just me and people are crowding.

Will you step up, my dear,
past the Second Wave,
and see just I much I have for you?

I wrote you a letter today,
It said "I'm moved, my dear,
by your presence and your skin,
by the curl of your hair and the curve of your breast".

I met a woman, a little while ago,
and I guess we're deciding right now,
on our own and together,
Whether or not to jump ship with all abandon.

We spent a night together last weekend,
Kissing and touching
and breathing and whispering

& I woke up in her arms.
She was waiting for me to open my eyes
(My eyes are opened wide, dear heart)
and she met them,
her smile spread
and she kissed me, then said, simply, "hello".

(Could I begin to tell you just how earth-shatteringly intense that was, my first time waking in the arms of a naked woman, the smell of the massage oils we'd used the night before still on our skin and on her sheets, her hands exploring my flesh?)

I spent the rest of that day in shock, in tears, in awe, this energy stuck behind my heart; spent that evening on the steps of the Arts Gallery with another beautiful queer woman, learning to move the heartstuckstuff, gentleness, then made my way home to my own bed, to my own lover, the one who knows me like I know the lyrics to Under the Bridge which I learned at camp when I was 8, to release some more.)

"I'm tired of quasi-relationships, and I want something real," she wrote. And there, for how damn tongue-tied I'd been to tell her the very same thing, the words were ripped from my own mouth. "Me!, Me!, See Me..." I wrote back, which I then delivered, wrapped in a flower, to her doorstep on the chair that sits on her porch.

("Right then, I wanted to draw you," she said.)

She held on, as a memento of our second date, to the wine bottle that we shared on the dock by the lake.

She wraps her arms arms me in embrace and whispers that she likes my curves.
(And her lips find mine.)

She took photos throughout her week - of the sunrise she catches at 5am, and the flowers blooming in the garden she tends - for me.

We played show and tell with the tattoos nicelyinked across her body (her wrists, her chest, her lower back, sprawling her hips), and I fell in love with the texture.

--


She's got me kinda heartblown
(and so this is where I get terrified).
(I remembered, tonight, after many, many months of the not-so-nice polystuff, the delicious polystuff. YES.)

I still find my heart sore for her some days, but how could I ever hold her with anything but grace, friendship, gratitiude, and love.

I'm feeling really gross, in a "my throat is swollen and I feel nauseous and my head hurts" kind of way. And so I can't really write in cogent, fleshed-out paragraphs. 

Fragments, then:

I went into the office this morning for a couple of hours, to get a feel for the space and the people. Helped set up the office; sorted out my email and voicemail. I was in for only 2 hours and managed still to leave with "oh, dear god, this is a gong show being run by people I have absolutely no desire to spend the next 3 months building and running a Festival with. Shit". Maybe all Festival people are simply bat-shit crazy and frenetic and self-important? Back tomorrow; me and my colleague - the woman I'm running the volunteer program with - are going to sit down and pow-wow our plan of attack. Maybe actually starting in on that will assuage my apprehensions about working with her.

Got a phone call this afternoon to interview for an events coordinator position with the Pride Society. We'll see how this current gig shapes up, and what the more in-depth scoop for the position with Pride is.

Yesterday afternoon was coffee with a girl who's actually bi, and poly for-real, and whose relationship situation seems legitimately stable and wonderful. Have I found my Unicorn!? She gets bonus points for the New Zealand accent, anyway. We clicked really well, which is to say that we seem to be able to talk absolutely openly about everything and anything. So we're now in the midst of swapping thoughts about how we want to shape this and where we see it going (refreshingly novel, being able to have this discourse). (Open palm, Sarah; open palm. The clenched fist has never done you any good.) (But have I told you how madly I yearn for a real, significant, soul-opening Connection with a woman? Have I? I'm trying to hold that not-in-desperation.)

Yesterday night was a Second Date with a boy. I knew with absolute certainty that it was A Date when, once we'd finished our dinner at the restaurant around the corner from his house and he suggested we go back to his place, I found myself feeling nervous and shy and apprehensive in that "Ok, learning to navigate uncharted beyond-platonic territory" kind of way. I met his cats and I poured over his books and movies and art; we smoked his cigarettes (I don't smoke), drank amaretto, and watched half of Shawshank Redemption (which I'd never seen). I Like him. He does heartspace with freedom and ease, which I really value. Neither of us made The First Move while we were there on his couch, but as I was sitting on the bus heading home, I received a text message from him: I wanted to kiss you. I'm shy about these things, still. Next time. My lips were sticky-sweet with amaretto, I thought to myself. That would have made a yummy first kiss. I can be shy too, I wrote back, giddily kicking my feet; let's let each other off the hook and call it endearing. I don't even know where to begin to process the fact that he's trans - that is, in the context of a potential lover - and so I haven't yet.

PS. I'm being a Terrible Student right now, typing this rather than listening to my classmates' presentations. I have a silly crush on my professor, I've just decided: she's beautifully and adorably geeky, closes her eyes when she's articulating a particularly complex point, and has a wonder-ful smile.

Missed connection this afternoon - meeting my friend with the rainbow hair and her new lover for lunch will have to wait until tomorrow.

I should hear very soon from the graduate program that is still considering my application. They've really gone out on a limb to take a chance on me: accepted my application late, and were prepared to wait on grades and commendations from the professors I worked with this semester to make an admissions decision (as opposed to a quite justifiable and flat-out "no, try again next year" off the bat). All of my grades this term have been outrageously high, and my professors are very happy to throw their support behind me, which is to say: I may very likely find myself in the position of having to decide quite quickly not only whether or not I'm prepared to uproot from my life here to move across the country for a 12-month Masters' program, but if I should pack up Matthew with me, or leave him here to maintain our home-base.

My graduation has officially been approved; my convocation is in just over two weeks. I don't think that even most of the people closest to me can really begin to appreciate what a struggle it was for me to earn my BA, so I won't try to convey that here, but suffice it to say: this is a very momentous milestone for me. My parents and grand-mere are coming into town, as is my mama-in-law (who I'm blessed for an amazing relationship with), to attend the ceremony and celebrate this with me. I'm trying really hard not to get anxious and stressed out by the weight of all of this family coming together, and to focus on the celebration that this is instead. I think I'm going to set out to find a pretty dress and make sure that my toes are yummily pedicured for the occasion.

My first summer course starts tomorrow night. Critical theory - Adorno, Benjamin, Marcuse. Much as my last couple of weeks of Absolutely Nothing on my Plate have been wondrously novel and great (it has been years - years - since I've had so much as a day with nothing looming on me), it's time to create some structure again. Coursework. Should start looking for employment, too.

Matthew has a work meeting this evening that will see him home at around 8 o'clock tonight (I'm a spoiled girl whose fiance is usually home from work by 4, and so this makes me unreasonably cranky); my favourite former lover, the boy who had me fall in love with mixed CDs, has dropped off the face of the earth again (as he's wont to do), so I wasn't exactly expecting a response when I invited him to go sit by the lake and have a beer tonight; and I was in the middle of typing "I'm not holding my breath that that girl I'd been seeing is going to make herself available for the burlesque show plans that we'd had when she said wasn't sure she'd be able to make it" when I received a message from her asking if I was still up for going. So, I guess she and I will be seeing each other tonight after all. (I think this is what a deer in headlights feels like.)

My current FaceBook status: has had the most bizarre twilight-zone-esque day... Now, to recuperate by, er, watching Doll House (because clearly -that's- the cure for a topsy-turvy, not-quite-right universe).

My date last night went... well? Yes. I think. It went well. (I can't tell... and I can't quite figure out whether I can't tell because I'm not being given positive signals to be picking up on, or because I'm just totally dense and don't have the perspective to see the forest from the metaphorical tree). The plans themselves were rather impromptu: she sent me a message during the day saying that she was up for hanging out that night if I was available. So I took the time to sit down for a yummy home-made cheese fondue dinner with Matthew, and then off I went to meet her for funkily-flavoured shakes at a hyper-hip place called East is East (oh, my, but she's a hipster) (there was flamenco going on in the restaurant!, and they give you little samples of chai tea when you step in the door!, and it was lovely). Then, we went back to her place for the 'wine and movie' plan. (Oh, dear me: "and then we went back to her place".) She lives in an absolutely yummy character house with a clawfoot bathtub, and a loft, and beautiful hardwood. We chatted some - me looking through her bookshelf, her playing me some music from her laptop, me asking questions about where from her intimidating travels the beautiful pieces on her wall came from. Then, we popped open the bottle of wine and settled on watching a lesbian romantic comedy. (Oh. My. God., this evening is such an L-Word stereotype, it's tripping me out.)

And... Nothing happened during the movie. We were laying together on her bed, watching the flick on her laptop.  Our hands didn't brush; we didn't lean against each other. Our legs maybe touched, I think? And then, when the movie was over, at 1:30am, and the bus schedule kind of sucked for getting me home, she says I was welcome to spend the night if I felt comfortable. Now I'm half kicking myself for having chosen the 5-dollar cab ride instead of a night with her. See, this! This is what "dating"(?) girls does to my brain function.

After making another date for tonight via swapped emails this morning ("I'm tickled we've come into each others' lives, and really enjoyed our time together"; "I think you're awesome, and absolutely adorable!"; "yes, let's check out the burlesque festival tonight!, ooh, and tomorrow, too!"), she starts getting wishy-washy ("hey, my friend may come with us tonight, if that's ok"; "oh, er, yes! sure! my friend wants to come, too"). So, my Newfie Friend (/newly appointed wingman) and I end up at my neighourhood watering hole (where, yes, "everybody knows my name", from the dark and mysterious psychology student who serves us beer on our regular Sunday night expeditions and chats me up when I run into him at other pubs in the neighbourhood, to the dude who performs requests every week and yoinks me up on "stage" to back him up on his Ani covers). Our plan is to get some dinner. and then join this girl and her friend at the show afterward.

("I'm having girl problems!," I tell the psych student when he comes up to our table to greet us and take our beer order (honey brown). All he knew of my relationship status is that I'm engaged to Matthew: he looks at me funny. "Uh... like, uh, physiological problems?". I laugh and spill my decidedly neither heterosexual nor monogamous nature. He treats me like I'm an alien with special powers for the rest of the evening.)

Newfie Friend resumes gushing to me about this girl he's had a few dates with and is absolutely, wildly crazy for. Things seems to going smashingly for him with her: they've kissed; have plans to see more of each other; are, it seems, mutually smitten. He'd been sharing random bits of information about her throughout his gushfest, and, all of a sudden, it clicks: this is the same girl who, years back, Stalked (yes, capital S: fake internet identities were involved) my Bohemian Actor Friend. (Oh, bless the Bohemian Actor's teenaged heart: he slept with Psycho Girl while dating her little sister; Psycho then wouldn't leave him alone, for years. In fact, he and I met via LiveJournal, through a mutual local friend. The night we got together in person, one of the first things he said to me was, "Wow, I was worried for a second there on my way to meet you that you were actually this chick who stalks me.."). I text the Bohemian Actor and confirm that this is indeed the same girl. Upon finding out this disturbing piece of his new girl's history, Newfie Friend spends a few hours in an essentially catatonic, blindsided state. Can you imagine the cognitive dissonance?: he was so taken with this girl by date #2 that he'd been angsting about how to bring up with her the fact he's been considering a career relocation to the UK ("and, oh, man, I figure that if we're totally in love by, like, June, I'll ask her to move with me!"), and this person is actually Bat-Shit Crazy with a history of Stalking and sleeping with her little sister's boyfriend.

(And amidst all of this, I called my new friend to tell her that Newfie Boy was in crisis, and we just couldn't make it out to the show with her and her friend, but I'd still see tomorrow, yeah? "Mm, well," she responded, "I kinda wanna go to yoga after work tomorrow; I need to stretch, so, uh, I'll let you know!"...)

(My Newfie friend and I, we've kinda given up on finding a woman to love in this city...)

I have a "date"(?) tonight... A third "date"(?). With a woman.

(You have to understand how terribly inexperienced I am in matters of dating women.)

For our first date, we met by the lake down the street from my house. We meant to catch the sunset together, but she ran late, and so we found each other in the dark and spent hours sitting on a log on the beach, talking and getting high.

Date number two was brunch (my meal was called "Woman in a Flowing Dress Kissing her Lover"), and goofing off with absurd clothing in a terribly hipster vintage store on Main Street.

Tonight... tonight, I'm packing up a mixed CD and the bottle of homemade chocolate-orange port that's sitting on my kitchen table, and heading over to her place to watch political documentaries. ("Which, well, that might be a little cerebral for a Saturday night," she mused, after her recommendation... Yes: have I mentioned the only that's put me off her was how judgmentally incredulous she was that I'm not particularly well-versed on the political situation in Burma?)

I get so ridiculously uncool around girls who like girls; it's like I'm a 16 year old boy... This one, she's wicked-smart, driven, totally together, has red kinky hair, and about a million and a half things in common with me. I need to stop telling myself she's cooler than me, that I'm totally not enough, that there's no way she could be interested: she's made sure to include time with me in her schedule consistently for the past 3 weeks. She invited me over for wine and movies tonight. I am worthy of the attention and interest of a cool girl. I'm not coming from a place of scarcity. I would love a deep, significant, romantic and sexual connection with a woman, but this is not desperation. I have all the time in the world, and have everything to gain from holding the universe with an opened palm rather than a clenched fist. I will not fear rejection. I will be me, and enjoy my time, and not shy away from how I feel and what I want: whatever comes of that will be absolutely perfect.