June 30, 2012


I'm somewhat in a mad dash because I need to head to the office soon. Saturday. I know. But these days finishing the Arena overrides any semblance of life outside of construction that may exist or not. And I'm going in very late, probably won't arrive until after the lunch hour, but I required sleep this morning. Sleep fuels the body.

Above pictured is the crazy land we call the Bunker Suites, now to be known forever and on as The Vault. Do you SEE these insane partition lay outs?? This might be the most artistically designed (?) amount of work my company has ever overseen. I'm slightly scared. I have glass walls that are to be installed in those channels laid out on the floor. Those walls have a frit interlayer. And a film applied later in the field, suite side. Shoot me now. Welcome on board to the Wild Ride that is Opening Barclays Center. We may all just collapse in small pools of dust and demise.

I don't know. The main reason I am penning is that I received a promotion this week: FINALLY! I am literally now billed as a Project Engineer. I have felt on Cloud 9 since told this. It's been a long time coming but it means so much - it is one of those crowning achievements that you text to 400 of your closest friends (which I did do) and hope that they understand the impact. I'm real now! I am really a living breathing entity in construction, to my company. Hurray! And the raise that came along with it didn't hurt, too. So Johnny and I celebrated my promotion with cheese and wine a few nights ago, to a terrible fault probably because the next day was disastrously foggy for me AND I had to lead the charge on an All Day Signage Meeting, first at our office then at Metro Tech and my brain became a messy pile of ancient Greek garbage.

Nevertheless, life charges on. I am now in a quiet and numb state of missing Greg. Every time I think of him my heart does this thing that it hasn't done for anyone for a completely insane period of time which is Skip a Beat, and I know he's been off the grid for a greater portion of a week and I know he is elated to be off the grid. We've discussed it. But now, so many days into his vacancy from my life and my emails and my texts, I am anxious, so ready to hear from him again, or to at least learn that after much meditation in Buenos Aires he has decided to delete himself from this. That wouldn't surprise me, only sadden me, because I've become stupidly happily involved with thinking about him, dreaming about him, wanting him right here, all the time, staring down at me from the pillow with those haunting dark eyes, sending his fingers along every notch in my spine, leaning in to be as close to me as he physically can be, our profiles fitting this perfect curve while watching the blue skies from his bedroom window...I don't know. I just want it. I hope it returns with his return.

Anyway. That was reaching deep for me. I should resort back to talk of the Arena. Much less emotion involved.
Headed there now. Good times.


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