I am in love.
I could say it differently, but I realized as the Long-Distance Fling was lying in my arms as he slept that I love him. That I am in love with him.
His skin under my finger tips felt electric and I watched him sleep, the rise and fall of his chest, his random kisses as he shifted positions.
He was in my arms, his head on my shoulder, our bodies entwined and I felt joy. Unparalleled joy.
Tonight, the two men in my life each responded back adorably to a text message with “me too.”
The LDF responded “Me too!!! :)” when I told him toward the end of our text chat: “Wish your trip this week were to [here].”
LP responded “Me too” when I told him “I am great. Miss you. Xoxo.” after he rapid-fire responded with three texts to a message I’d sent 30 minutes before.
Though I am seeing a few people, I really only have only two men in my life, even though neither is really in my life.
I had a moment of clarity tonight when I saw that my Long-Distance Fling (LDF) was on twitter, which he never is. I quickly scanned my feed, just to be sure it was clean.
Last night, I was working from the sofa and LP, my impossible to categorize love, texted me.
I’d sent him a message earlier, with a request I never make: ” I’d like to get on your calendar some time over the next 7 days. When can you fit me me in?”
It took two hours for him to respond, which was more than enough time for me to get my nose out of joint and compose many unsent tweets.
When he finally did, it was a check in that was a little strange about work and the weather and became a discussion about restaurants where I was trying to figure out if he was trying to ask me to dinner or help him pick a restaurant for a dinner:
LP:”What do you think of [$40/entree restaurant] as a restaurant? Any good?”
There was a small reference to drama in my last post that was external to us.
As I expected when it happened, I knew it would affect him deeply and meaningfully. It did.
He derailed completely.
Late thursday night, he drunkenly picked a fight with me via text that — in the heat of the moment — I interpreted as a finality. At one point, he texted “leave me alone.” In fact, I announced to my friends that I was now single.
This is the barest sketch of an outline of a thought of an update . . .
The Bon Vivant is back in town and in my life in a more active way than he ever has been.
I’ve spoken to him every day since Sunday night (“Joy”).
I spent about 20 hours with him from the moment he arrived back in town on Tuesday afternoon until Wednesday afternoon where we had a typically amazing time: indie film at the upscale arthouse with cocktails, cocktail hour with his friends at their downtown condo, dinner and wine at a favorite restaurant, cocktails at the super-exclusive bar, incredible sex at his place, external drama related to the fact we had been drinking so much, more incredible sex, and then settling into an actual life.
I can actually feel the joy washing over my brain. like waves crashing onto a beach as the tide comes in.
It’s a physical sensation.
From the moment I hung up the phone, my heart has been pounding and my brain is awash in so much joy I cannot really remember every thing we said.
What I can remember, as I am still experiencing it, is this feeling of joy.
Everything I hoped he felt, he did.
Everything I hoped he heard, he did.
Everything I hoped he said to me, he did.
And over the course of 28 minutes, I realized . . . we’re in a relationship, and it’s serious.
For four weeks, I have envisioned what it would be like to have the Bon Vivant back in town, I have thought about how we left things, and I have been riddled with insecurity and self-doubt.
I need to do a full update soon, but . . .
My planned Friday was even better than I’d anticipated. In addition to the projects I knew I’d start working on through my company, my girlfriend C convinced me that I have marketable skills other people would pay me for and that she (a marketing guru) would help me find them.
I had a little anorexia meltdown at a famous eatery, at which I refused to eat. Then I had to tell my friend the think tank exec that I have an eating disorder, which is always good times. He said, yeah, so you really shouldn’t do ballet . . . Which, yeah, I know.
On Saturday, I had a long workout with the dog (I am actively exercising again), and was sitting by the pool writing up things for a big project when I got a strange fb wall comment from the Bon Vivant, and then another one.
And then a series of private messages that made the depth of his depression clear.
I did what I could, and then I made peace with my decision and his choice.