Love, love, love

Facts:
1. I am very happy.
2. I am a good waitress.
3. I am in love.
4. I have amazing friends!
5. I am aligning my priorities.
6. Everything is changing all the time, especially my luck.


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Elaboration:

I am in love. I am very happy. I have a priority, a person. Johnny.

We spend a lot of time together, and have become companions. I am being a really shitty friend to my DC accomplices, and am sad about that, but my besotted state will only persist for the next two weeks.

When I was a kid, I marked off my height against the kitchen door in pen, with the date next to the escalating number. To encourage me, my parents showed me their numbers of getting taller and taller (which they fabricated). And I got confused. I correlated height with age – I thought I would just get taller, and taller, until I died.

One day, I would grow so large that I would no longer be able to fit through the doorframe. I would lay helpless and enormous in the living room, slowly starving to death. My giant form would dwindle to enormous bones. Alice doesn’t make it to wonderland.

I see the shelf life on this relationship, the expiration date when my affections swell, spilling out of my organs and in my marrow. It will seep into my blood, like some gorgeous sepsis. My heartbeat will skip and falter. The writing is on the door.

In two weeks, the relationship will be (mostly) over.

And dammit, I love this boy. I’ve passed from a mega-gross squee-fest to a more sedate, stable, but constant pulse of affection and care. I say we reflexively. The idea of being separate for the last two weeks of summer was unimaginable. Every time I see him, other things fade to monotone and sepia. His skin is satin, his ideals are vivid. I want him, constantly and intensely. It’s hard to get out of bed, to leave the warmth of our bodies. It’s hard to stop holding him in the morning. It’s amazing to wake up and realize I can hold onto this crazy dreamboy, and not have him slip away into dream-dust-in-the-eyes and bleary disappointment. Wonderland.

I will be different in two weeks. I will drink too much, sleep too little. More career-focused, more individualistic, a better friend. I will cry. My enormous form will dwindle.

The background will grow fruitful again, and I’ll be able to pick out the beauty of the fall as the incredible warmth of summer recedes. And I’ll visit Ohio to find that warmth again. I'll get the warm-and-fuzzies for Oberlin all over again.

But for now? I’m in love, dammit. I’m going to enjoy it. It’s a priority.