2003-03-26 10:33 a.m.
the content of her smile

New readers who catch the last few entries all in a string will probably think I'm manic depressive. It's all a lie, a media fabrication, like this war (well, the justifications anyway).

I woke up early this morning to get some writing done before my artist realizes that I'm moving far slower than promised and quits...but all I've ended up doing is catchinig up on people's lives.

S is seriously in love (so I hear). I'm happy for her. (Online journals are a funny thing; they let you keep in touch without keeping in touch. I thought for most of last year how good it would be to be in contact. Now? Guess I've just moved on...who'da thunk it?)

E.Bess is writing a comic in addition to doing her 'zine, PLATFORM (which I still need to pick up). Girl's got so much focus, it's scary.

And me? Hey, there are comics to be written!

Despite being nervous about the whole affair, I spent almost the entire weekend with L's parents, something I've never done with anyone else I've been involved with.

At first glance, I thought we were having dinner and seeing a show all in one night, a concentrated dose, in, out, all in five or so hours. We'd dance around the topic of politics (as if we got deeply into it, her dad and I would start cuffing each other up the side of the head), I'd talk up writing comics and such as a valid career choice and pray they didn't roll their eyes, and hopefully I wouldn't spill pasta sauce on myself.

It went a little differently than that.

I was warned that they're not warm people, and I can see how folks would get that impression, but I didn't have that problem. Maybe they liked the fact that I was Jewish (what they know can't hurt them), maybe I was artsy in an accessible way (G-d bless pop culture), or maybe we were all just drunk.

We talked a lot at dinner about Shakespeare, the Globe Theater in London, what kind of theater has grabbed us in the past (okay, they're Lloyd Webber fans on top of being Zionist Republicans; I'm gonna let it go, I swear)...I told them what my parents did and they pretended to understand. (By the next day's drinks, they accepted that bargain books do not equal antiquarian books.) I don't know how, but my schmoozing engine got revved into turbo, and I managed to be charming and convey information while not dancing all over the conversation. I think my feet stayed under the table and out of my mouth.

Her dad struck me as an odd, but likeable, duck. I can't say we see eye-to-eye on much, but I at least respect the research he does...a seriously learned gent.

Of course, this kind of acceptance won't last. It never does. But it's nice for now to get approval.

I woke up to an email from L that left me sorta breathless and smiling. Words about our heady, surreal weekend...and I always wonder how people in love find each other. We're both so different, yet lock together in so many interesting and important ways.

We take turns taking the other person's breath away. She keeps my mind a-flurry with issues of construction and design, the science of making art, the magic people work without Photoshop. I (hopefully) give her a wealth of words to think about, books to read, ideas to get tangled in. We talk about mythology and religion, we watch Homestar Runner and laugh like idiots, we get drunk on Southern Comfort and trade coats in the cold night on the way home from karaoke, after singing ourselves silly. She's coming out of her shell about her own public image, I'm coming out of mine about caring for people (well, ones I'm not dating or living with).

Lunchtime discussion yesterday at The Firm included hearing about how Jessica's near-marriage broke up (too much comfort, not enough passion for her), and I was amazed that I don't have that problem with L (at least from my end). I worry about being tired too much, about sharing too much and losing the magic of fresh love...

...and then I meet her for something ridiculous like returning the cell phone she left at my house the night before, and seeing her smile washes away any doubt, any troubles, any bad workday that's come before. Some days I want to prop her up on the kitchen counter (well, be fair, always) and do my worst until she falls down (or pushes me onto the floor), and some days I just want to walk by the waterfront with her, hold hands, and talk about art and life, rosy cheeks bright in the sunshine. (What kills me is waking up before her, watching her all chilled out and peaceful, then giving her the smallest kiss on the cheek...the corners of her mouth curl up just so.)

I hesitate all the time, about telling her about comics or music, talking about my coworkers, waiting for the judgments to begin...and when she notices, smirks, pokes me in the ass, and tells me to spill.

I caught myself counting the months last night...it's been six. Something special about that, especially when you consider that in any past relationship, we were broken up already or over the hump and on the way downhill...and here, it still feels like there's a lotta uphill to be had. Gotta do something special about that.

It's hard to beat the bar in this case...she's pretty goddamn special already. Then again, I like a challenge.