Get down girl. Go ‘head. Get down

Ok. Fully realize the need to take it easy. Spend some time just bein’ with myself. And I am, it’s good, etc.

But I’m Itchy with pregame energy; stretching before the race, bouncing a leg on the bench, half hoping the coach will put me in, half hoping the clock runs out before I have to play.

I had a warmup last night. Someone just cute enough to be a distraction; the bartender (“jeweler, artist”). I think I might need to work on flirtatious banter:

“do you like jazz music?” he asked.

Hmmm. Hard question, actually. Couldn’t he have asked “do you like facials?” or “do you like wine?” so I could have answered with some enthusiasm?

Do I like jazz music? “I don’t know” I said….

Pause.

“Oh, because there’s this really famous trio (insert name here, never heard of them) at the jazz showcase this weekend.”

Pause.

Oh. Oops. Too late…

Later, when he offered me a piece of orange-goat-cheesecake (a special), I did NOT say “I really don’t like cheesecake.” I focused on the fact that I really do, in fact, like goat cheese. And oranges. And I took a big bite and licked my lips and gave him a look.

He doesn’t fit my checklist. He’s younger than me. I don’t think he’s smarter than me. He’s prettier than me. And he doesn’t have a plan. But shit. My list is missing things, it’s not foolproof.

Cheesecake, for example, when fashioned from tart goat cheese and sweet oranges with a dark chocolate crust, is actually to die for.

Lights will guide you home

4th of july we drove to michigan. the annual all-summer-in-a-weekend, where all outfits include a layer of bathing suit, we'd build our first and last tan lines, take naps on the boat, play a 15-minute round of tennis, eat at the beach bar and lose interest in fireworks before the finale.

we made careful plans to leave the city at noon, arrive in time for a tour of the new summer house; eat hummus and smoked fish.

but something fell apart that day. he didn't answer his phone at noon, was unreachable until 6 pm, when he ambled out of the office, on his cell phone, laughing with the other end. I "killed the mood," seething as we sat in stagnant traffic.

"I just don't understand why you didn't answer the phone. where were you?"

He was busy. He refused to argue. He was bored with my emotion. "Jesus christ jess, love isn't supposed to be this hard." and he scowled, like i was giving him a headache.

I cried the whole way there. not because i didn't know where he'd been all day. because he wouldn't just reach for my hand, say sorry. because we had to spend 20 minutes at a gas station parking lot before pulling into my parents' driveway so i could stop crying. it wasn't until the next day that he said "i'm sorry about last night. i'm really glad we're here." and i said "me too. i'm sorry for making it so hard"

when they changed the layout in the newsroom, she moved to the desk next to his. She's the light to my dark. a real live soccer mom. a notre dame sorority girl. the girl - melissa bestin - he liked in high school, who kept stats for the baseball team and didn't like him.

she wrote entire columns about her hair colorist. the importance of a burberry bag. why it's important to eat expensive lunches.

with her, love WAS easy. she was a fantasy. she became a heroine from the 1950's movies she wrote about. an upstanding innocent with a secret.

when i asked him how long it had been going on, he said: "A few months. Jess, i don't even know her. i hope this isn't asking too much but just give me some time to clear my head." (Just give me some time to finish this. it's still new)

one of my first thoughts: oh god. 4th of july. of course.

Sky is falling

I thought it was just a box of clothes. who knew it housed more tears than anything else I've seen. didn't cry on the phone today, when taking notes on stupid changes to a presentation, didn't want to be one of those people who "lets their personal life get in the way"

but my throat is now raw and stretched out from holding back and i can't wait to lie down and cry.

winter clothes. each piece folded and stored away two houses ago, when spring was starting, we were moving, it was getting warm and he said i could have as many closets as i wanted in the new house.

the sweater he bought me on sale at the end of last season. Never worn, tags still on, he said it would be like a present to unfold it next year (yep. what a treat)

jeans i wore to the mall; "wear your saturday jeans".

boots i wore when there was salt on the ground, when he'd pull the car up to the corner so i didn't get them dirty. a sweater that smells like joe's stone crab. his soft, long-sleeves shirt that i slept in on the cold nights.

also stuck in the box: a valentines card. happy valentine's day. i love telling people that you're my wife. thank you for being mine.

a christmas ornament someone gave us for our "first married christmas" that we stuck on a shelf and said "one of these days, we'll have a tree"

photos from our first vacation. our first apartment. raking leaves. on the boat. in a hammock. at thanksgiving.

Today feels like a step back. like the first raw days. like it doesn't stop hurting. I didn't know this was coming; a whole season of memories i'd forgotten to mourn.

Even better than the real thing

Meet Jeremy. The bartender at my wifi bar who I THOUGHT was gay. it looks like he wears makeup on his pretty eyes; he makes and wears jewelry. We’ve been friendly strangers for awhile, I’d noticed him, actually, before the bar became ‘mine’ and before I was single.

When he introduced himself Friday, he pulled up a chair and immediately put his hand on mine, hovered over my shoulder. We spent an hour playing with my laptop, taking turns at the keyboard, researching jewelry-making, Japanese jewelry-making metals, portable satellite radio, travel destinations, sushi spots in the city. My drinks were on the house and he gave me a flamboyant kiss goodnight on the cheek.

We bookmarked the best websites found and emailed them to his laptop so we could both continue the searches on our own, later.

Today, a message from him. He has my collarbone in mind for his next metal creation and I detect a hint of he’s not gay. Guess I’ll have to get better at reading signals. Too early to rebound but doesn’t hurt to let my neck tingle.