• I didn't realize initially that it was the Michael Phelp-ics, but I'm pretty burned out now. We watched some at the beach, but the Olympics have never been my thing. I do wish I'd followed the soccer a bit more though.
• Mike and I went to Daly City last night to pick up a new dresser and nightstand for me off of craigs list. Oh man. I had measured the car to make sure the dresser would fit in the backseat. Check. However, I made the fatal flaw that I'm sure everyone does at some point — I didn't check to make sure the dresser would fit through the car door. The result? We look like idiots to these people, who send us up the street to the dollar store to buy string to tie the trunk to the dresser. We evenually get it all together after much amateur fumbling and I drive the 45 miles down the 280 sweating the entire time, convinced the string will break and something bad will happen. Nothing does and we make it home just fine. I have a dresser for the first time since moving to the west coast.
• This morning it occurred to me that the "Batman R.I.P." (which I know Ben is reading, at least) by Morrison currently running in the Batman comic is a lot like the "Hush" storyline by Loeb from several years ago. Except that Loeb went low-brow and Morrison is hitting the high-brow notes. Also, "Final Crisis" is very, very good. I'm burned out on DC still, but if you have basic (or nerd-basic) knowledge of DC, "Final Crisis" should tickle you in strange places. Of course, if I say Mister Miracle, Seven Soldiers, Barry Allen and 4th World and you have a blank stare, you'll need to hit up Wikipedia to fully appreciate it. (Also, bringing back Barry Allen is the single worst idea DC could do. I'd like to say it doesn't actually raise my blood pressure, but it does. I am a nerd.)
• This post by the Portman's bf, titled "In Which We Request You Not Tongue Our Balls" might be enough for me to wish the couple well. As much as I love the Portman, I'm not sure I can offer more than this post does. Yes, I may no longer be the perfect match for Natalie. The nerd in me is crying.
• Everything That Happens Will Happen Today is out. It's David Brynes and Brian Eno's first collab in 30-some years, the first since "My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts." I need to listen to this one some more before I decide if I'm buying it or not.
• We were on vacation for Imperial Fleet Week this year. Looks like we didn't miss a ton.
  
• And yes, I'm doing well. I haven't fallen off of any cliffs, though I'm staying up too late, eating too late (last night dinner was at midnight) and generally driving myself to exhaustion. Debate may begin if this is a healthy coping mechanism.

To everyone, but wasn't to me until this morning: Waking up alone sucks.

Most of my life, sure, no problem. No biggie. But of all the things in the last 18 hours that I miss most, that's it. Followed closely by the fun of getting ready for work with someone in the morning.

And I promise I'm not going to post like Eeyore every 10 hours now.

I'm sitting in Atlanta, the airport, waiting for the flight back to SF. I'm sitting by myself. R is already in Boston. By magic, our flights took off at the same time from the gate, leaving little time for teary goodbyes. (They weren't as teary as they could have been or as I expected.)

We spent a week at Buxton, NC with the family. It was good mostly except for: cutting my fingers badly against my razor, losing my class ring (more to follow) and ripping the skin by a toenail.

I had a small bit of panic as the flight closed the door in Richmond. But it passed as we got into the air and I started reading. Still, to quote Keren: Blarg.

Anyway. That thing that I have been posting over and dreading for months? Yeah, it's here now and I'm holding on ok. All in all, it was extremely low-key. R won't let me change my FB status to 'it's complicated' but whee. Ok, now I got back to something else over the next 90 minutes til I board.

Just because the new curtains are somewhat thing and we didn't close the blinds last night, which meant the apartment got colder than usual does not mean you should have a sore throat. Nor a fever. Nor awful head stuffiness. Nor tickling in the nose.

All of which suggest a cold coming on.

I've taken a "maximum strength cold relief" pill. But just one, as I bet it will knock me out and then some.

Seriously, didn't you help write my last post? Don't you know that this is the specific 15 days I do not want to be sick with something?

Sigh.

This is what it is like to be busy; this is how you have no time:

Thursday-Saturday, we were in Seattle for Ben's wedding. Pictures will follow, but the wedding was fun, though it seemed I got the surprise of having to help set-up and break down everything. That was the groomsmen's job. Saturday was spent with Chris Davis and Manijeh, wandering around Capitol Hill and then watching the Blue Angels perform while sitting on the roof of his friends' house. Random, but a lot of fun.

Yesterday, R started packing, so I took the time to finally do a tiny bit of home improvement — I bought fabric for our dining room chairs and recovered them, bought a little throw rug and hung curtains in the den*. Whew. Oh and repotted some plants. And helped R.

She's going to need a bigger bag.

Everyone also (understandably) wants to see her before she goes — it looks like the entire week is full already, leaving little time to actually get ready. She's going to be a stress-case in no time. I will follow; I imagine this week is going to be pretty turrible.

I'm hanging in, mostly. Everyone's reaction to all of this is pretty much on a spectrum — from 'you'll be fine' to 'wow, that will be tough.' (And for the record — I need far less sympathy and more just that you keep an eye on me in the coming weeks/months. Promising me trips to strip clubs and shady bars will be far more helpful than trying to make me feel better about futures that haven't arrived.) The reality is that I will be a mess and that it is going to be one of the toughest things I've gotten to wallow through. It's ok though; time doesn't stop and a change in circumstance is just a reason to find new ways of being content and happy.

But I'm so proud of R — for getting in, yes, but really for going. For doing something most other people never would consider. It's badass and something I haven't given her full props for until recently. When I moved to LA, I had her around. This is far tougher. It's totally amazing and I've got one more thing to throw back at her when she makes excuses for doing other shit. If you can do this, you can do anything.

And this morning, I realized a bunch of things I'll miss about having her around. Yes, the company, the sex, the goofiness. But shit like zipping up her dress or watching her put on makeup. Or sitting on the sofa and eating dinner while watching Daily Show. Or watching her sleep. It's going to be all these little moments that I won't get to store up anymore. Though I've got several years of them now, so maybe they can tide me over.

Nothing stays the same forever; so all-in-all, this is thrilling. The dress zipping and TV watching will be replaced with something new and different for a little while.

Yet another reason to treasure every moment.

* I'm convinced the apt manager will somehow find a way to fuss over this improvement, though I'm pretty sure she can't actually do anything. Except raise our rent. It's a shame 1. that I don't trust her and 2. that she's such an annoying control freak. I shouldn't be worried about hanging curtains, but I am. (Just as I shouldn't have been concerned about storing a bike on the balcony or a vacuum — for a couple of days — or suggesting a mixer for the complex; she acted like I was totally insane for suggesting that I might want to meet my neighbors.) The curtains make our window look different than everyone else's. Goodness knows that might be taboo.

i'm hard-pressed to convey how intense this week has been.  production in CA - i don't think i have ever worked so hard in my entire life.  but it was so fucking fun…  i'm sitting in my rapidly-emptying greenroom with that pit-in-my-stomach, end of summer-camp feeling.  i will exchange email addresses and promise to write and do so with fervor for a little while, until that newness wears off and this week will stand alone in my memory as one solitary time.  i didn't expect to feel melancholy at this point.

i surprised myself this week - proved to myself a lot about what i can accomplish when i bust my ass.  by october 1, there will be 17 professionally-shot and produced videos of me available on the internet, teaching the writing section of the SAT test.  i worked as the "talent" for silicon valley-funded start-up company, and had a camera crew following me around.  i shot footage on the street, and had onlookers applaud at the end of a take.  it's pretty cool to stand back and marvel that this is my life.

It is something when you wake sobbing. This morning I had an intensely realistic dream, one where the pavers were wet with pre-dawn dew, lampposts shined with their amber hue in the darkness, and blades of grass shimmered on a dark hillside.

The first part of the dream is this: I was out late. Well, not me exactly. Single me. Before wife and children. Apparently, I was out late on the town (seemingly normal and comfortable for me in the dream, but completely out of character for me in real life), walking from there to here, along a cobbled path between (European?) apartment buildings. There was something of a grassy slope to one side of the path, steps. I passed a woman I knew and chatted. I proceeded on, I think rebuffed but kindly so.

Then, I was in a cafe of sorts at dawn. There were people gathered and delectables in the front counter case. There were also many people I knew, mostly family, living and deceased. My mom was there, along with her parents, and so was my Granddad, with an older black man I couldn’t place. There were others, but I can’t quite grab them back from my unconsciousness. We all sat together happily. There was discussion of a great omlette the chef made, but my mom was discouraged that it took 40 minutes to make (something about that time not including ingredients) and that we wouldn’t have that kind of time.

My Granddad turns to me, his face full but wrinkled, looking much tanner than I think he ever was in life, and says “You’ve been praying a lot about the things you don’t want to happen instead of …”

“…the things I want to happen.” I finish with a dawning realization. As I reeled from that revelation, my mom’s parents show him some kind of weird, raised-pinkie, partly-closed-fingers hand symbol that when you lay two or four hands together it makes a knot or cross. I tried to peer closer to see exactly how it was done–they were showing it to my Granddad (I remember thinking “Oh, they’re Catholic and he isn’t)–but as I wondered why I could only see it from the side, my mind said “Of course you can’t see what it looks like. You’ve only ever seen it from the side in real life, and this is a dream…”

At which point I viewed the cafe from above, and all the occupants in my party faded out leaving empty chairs. And I awoke feeling desperately alone.