Home again, and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it.  A tiny, selfish shred of myself was happy when Kev’s truck refused to start this afternoon.  Maybe I was stuck, oh no, however shall I cope, smug grin.  Only a small shred, though.  There was genuine worry, because missing my flight would’ve meant waiting until Tuesday for the next flight out on Allergy, as nothing else would’ve been at all affordable.  As wonderful as it would’ve been to have those extra few days, it’d only be staving off the inevitable.  Classes start back on Wednesday.  I can’t rightly say “shit on that”, tempting as it is.  The other major part of worry was… well, shit.   He kind of needs a working vehicle for work.  So this is a really big problem.  It’s not a good note to leave on… and I worry that it’s going to be more than a simple little nothing sort of problem.

I hope it’ll be ok.  It’ll be ok.  I hope it’ll work out.

Did get a ride to the airport — pops to the rescue.  Damn, right?  Yeah.  Got checked in with a few minutes to spare, spent with my face pressed into Kev’s chest.  Breathing in every last molecule of scent that I could.  Getting as lost in the sound of his heartbeat as I could.  Trying not to think of the weeks that would stretch ahead… ignoring everything that wasn’t at that very moment.  His arms.  Our warmth.  Suspending the reality and indulging in this singular moment.

Bitte, bitte weck’ mich nicht / solang ich träum’ nur gibt es dich…

As I was telling Karey tonight, it wasn’t two minutes after I got to my gate that I heard someone’s phone go off, blaring ‘Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)’.   A real, honest to god, genuine facepalm moment was had.  With much force.  And much disgust.  Reality kicked back in, rubbing my face in the fact that I was going back home.  I can’t say that’s the most hate I’ve ever been filled with, but it was a pretty good amount.

I cried somewhere over Tennessee while the chaw-packing dude across the aisle, in a hunting jacket and worn-out hick-ass boots, stared.

The sun fell behind the horizon, and I watched for Lexington.  As soon as we got close enough to see some landmarks, I did feel a surge of excitement again.  I guess I am glad to be home again.  Much as I bitch about the less desirable folk, I can’t help but love Kentucky.  It is home, after all.  The worthwhile people are fantastic.  The scenery is amazing.  The atmosphere is just… warm.  Pleasant.  Everything moves at a slower pace, relaxed, comfortable.  In spite of everything, I smiled.  This is, after all, where we’re weaving those first threads of our life.  There are countless places we can go from here, but this is where it’s gonna start.  Even though the wait is long, I’m happy to know it’s coming.  Not soon enough, but soon.  Here.

So, I’m happy to be home, in a sense.  But crushed by the thought of all this time.  And pained by the fact that once again, I have to live on memories.  I have to remember his scent, his breath, his heartbeat.  I have to long for his arms to crush my sides again.  I have to deal with going to sleep alone again.  Yes, I am saying I will miss waking up without his knee up my ass.  There a lot of crazy, simple little things about every-day that I am going to miss. Hard.

Way hard.

Here I sit, about 26 hours til my flight back home, and I’m letting myself get all conflicted about it.  Simply put: I don’t want to go.  These past coupla weeks have been so nice, so fun, so comfortable that I just don’t want to leave it and be put into waiting again.  I don’t want to be boxed back in behind phonecalls and IM boxes.  I don’t want to look to the sky all wistfully, waiting for “the day”.  I want to keep looking up wistfully on the back porch, waiting for the hour.  The minute when he’ll be home again, so I can kick off my shoes and curl up for a nap while listening to him breathe.

It’s 2:22.  Same wish I’ve been wishing since I got down here.  I wish he’d follow me home soon…

That would be fine, knowing that it might be sooner rather than later.  Sooner rather than Spring Break.  I know the reasoning behind that is to allow time for more savings and so I can have a full week to move in and get settled into this glorious and shiny new LIFE we’ll be building together.  I know it’s sensible, reasonable, practical, what have you. But knowing how slowly the last three weeks between tgiving and xmas went… how horrible the seven week stretches were…

It has to be done.  But I’m not going to pretend to be happy about it.  I’m not going to pretend that it’ll go by quickly and painlessly.  Not this time.  I’m generally always happy to keep on the sunny side and know that good things are well worth waiting for, but that’s just a load of shit that I’m not even going to entertain.  This is going to suck.  It’s going to suck hard and hurt.

Where, if I just stayed… if I could just… stay…

I’d have to put a pause on my education again, for at least a year until I gained resident status.  And a few other cons, but that being the biggest one. And while I want to say I don’t care, I do.  I’ve already waited a good long while on that front, til I gathered the nerve and resources to go after it… I don’t want to wait any longer on it.  And he cares about it, too.  Putting that on hold would make us both mighty unhappy.

So what it’s down to is picking one unhappiness over the other, really.  *chortle*

I’ll catch the damn flight.  I’ll get back, get settled, start classes.  Start packing up.  Secure an apartment.  Reserve flight to meet him down here for the roadtrip up to Lexington.  Maybe it won’t be so bad.  Maybe we’ll luck out and have a weekend between now and then, however short and teasing it may be.

Maybe.

Right now, I just wish he’d get home so I can bury my face in his neck.

I don’t like the waiting very much at all.

I hate those moments where you think you should probably be saying something, but the things worth talking about have so few words, and the rest would amount to nothing more than random fart-noises.  I always have things to say when I don’t have a (public) blog, but having one just serves to gum up the works… like finally getting a dream journal set up, and then you stop dreaming…

I suppose the biggest news since the last news that was really big would be an event already written about in great detail on my Livejournal, and very nicely stated on my brother’s blog, which is the passing of my long-time furry friend, Moses.  He passed Saturday morning at 11:32.  Though I had been prepared for this months ago when his health first started to decline, it’s still hard.  As I was telling Kev that morning, for the longest time, Moses was the only man I could ever really count on to be there and be supportive when I needed him most.  I like to think that maybe he stuck around to make sure I’d be alright without him… that I was finally in good hands.  And I do believe that his following Kev from one room to the other when walking was somewhat of a task was an approval of sorts… Mo could generally care less about people outside of the family, so that’s sort of a big deal.

Then again, I’m very sentimental, so that “I like to think” could be total bollocks.  Still doesn’t stop me from liking the idea.

He will be greatly missed.  Fat boy.  Turkey butt.  Thunder butt.  Momar.  Momo.  Mo-ron.  Moder.  Love you, Mo.

The wonderful thing about the Internet is the ability to find people, quite easily, and be given the opportunity to reestablish contact after what might have been years of silence.

The horrible thing about the Internet, however, is the ability to find people, quite easily, and be given the opportunity to reestablish contact after what might have been years of silence.

I never know how to feel when people I knew from ages ago come up and throw me a “Hi, how’ve you been?”  My initial reaction is “what the fuck do you care, years after you slagged me off?”  Then I calm down and remember that life happens and the circumstances were rather unusual (as they tend to be for dropouts).  Sure, they could’ve picked up the phone, but what is there to talk about when you never shared anything but the daily experience?  With that gone, there’s nothing to talk about.  Give it a few years, and there’s bound to be something worthy of discussion.

But the awkwardness remains.  And I would much rather not be bothered by these people, just to avoid that awkwardness.

And now here I sit, looking up people from THE PAST on facebook, wishing I could get back in contact with them, but knowing I shouldn’t, considering just how damned awkward it would be after everything that has went down since last we spoke.  Awkward because they were his friends… and although I grew to genuinely like them in our brief meetings, regardless of who they were to whom, I don’t know if I was lucky enough to have that genuine liking returned.

But I miss them, and I regret not getting to know them better before.  And I regret the thought that I might never have that chance now, with all the bitterness that remains in THE END.  I hate the thought that his incessant whining and smack-talking and “I Can Do No Wrong” -isms may have blown whatever chance I had to still call them “friends”.  I hate to think that they might actually think that I’m the delusional one.

There’s no way I can just randomly say “hi, how’s life been?”

And so I sit here, their names and faces on-screen, wishing we’d all met in a different way… or maybe not at all.