Forties

potential pages from poetry book a.k.a. someday...

It's a regular overcast Sunday and I'm out to lunch while Hatch and Little Hatch collect themselves for a road trip upstate for Little to return to his Mom's house.

I used to go on those trips. I suppose that was when I was embedded in the throes of new love, much as those were the times he'd stare at me while I slept and when my eyes would flutter open, he'd say something to the effect of, "Creepy?" and I'd nod, and he'd proceed to tell me that I'm beautiful when I sleep, that I could be a "sleep model." Oh, the things we do and say when we're in those wooing stages, right?

But I don't go anymore, and he sleeps with his back to me. When we embrace, he pats my back gently like I'm a neglected cat. Our kisses are like old relative kisses on the mouth of a family member you haven't seen in twelve years and are awkward around. 

Honestly, though, it's going to be alright. 

Last week, he Photoshopped two photos of me that he had taken long ago, a gesture of love. And more recently, he has been helping me re-learn Adobe Illustrator so that I can kind of wedge my way into digital art while at the same time using my hand-drawn ink smears and creative gut instincts. 

Above: a smattering of things I've been up to over the past week. He's excited for me, for this and for us and for us to embark on future creative endeavors together. Equally, he forwarded me links to two electronic full songs he has been composing for a long time now, and they sound fantastic (electronic not being my genre but he's clearly quite talented, and I'm blessed to have his soul in my very midst.)

The weekend has been pleasurable. Fitz really loves joining us in Queens. We played Scrabble, Clue, some numbers game he loves, watched Discovery curiosity "Weird Wonders" episodes, ate homemade hamburgers and homemade potato chips, boxed brownies. We cuddled a lot - he's getting bigger every time he visits, but he's still limber and slender enough to fit comfortably against me on the couch while twirling my hair in two fingers. I gifted him $25 after he performed one miniature chore that I asked him to (we need to work on that) and his Dad took him to a neighborhood Party Store to buy a stuffed Husky dog (Fitz is currently obsessed with Husky dogs.)

Jon and I enjoyed each other, as well. We did a FaceTime session with Fitz's Mom Friday night and she wound up giving us her Hulu account for access to The Handmaid's Tale; she was exuberant about us watching it, so we did that Friday after Fitz went to bed (just one episode - I liked it, however feel that Jon and I should read the book - I've read, so it'd be a re-read, but it'd be his first time.) We had coffee Saturday after he went to the gym. Last night we rented the latest Rings movie, and had a nice couch date. 

Here is the thing, the ultimate thing:

he is my best friend in the entire world. That will never change.

If I do not stop drinking (I haven't yet) there is a chance I'll lose these two. I'm trying in my own ways, but I'm fairly sure my own ways are feeble and somewhat insincere (I'm just being open.) It's like...I want to? But I also don't.

I have vivid memories of the times I'd be restricted from alcohol - not that I had to have it if it were accessible but that its inaccessibility was a reality - and that anxiety is something I never want to endure again.

If I can adjust my mental and physical dependency to the knowledge that having it nearby relaxes my anxieties, yet I don't necessarily vie for it in my system, I'd be on a fair plane.

Of course, any alcoholic would tell me I'm crazy to think and dream of these scenarios.

Regardless, my most recent priorities are prioritizing healthier and more fulfilling things right now.

Work is massive, to me. I need to be a smashing success at it.

Being a semi-Co-parent to Fitz is huge on my list. That plants sobriety as a requisite in my garden of living.

Proving to Jonathan that our love of Phil Collins, Hall & Oates, Hangman, painting, music, language, horror movies, commuting together, iced coffee, hand-holding, clean laundry, going to bed before eleven, asparagus, Forest Hills, Fitz...is all as meaningful to me today as it was when we met three years ago...if not one hundred million times more. 

He has adjusted plenty of his lifestyle practices to my whimsical anxieties. But not all. Which should be okay.

I told him, two weeks ago, while walking to the train, that he had been cited a violation in the bathroom. He resigned a sigh and asked, What did I do?

I explained that I found his two sticks of deodorant facing different directions in the medicine cabinet.

He looked at me as if I had cracked a really bad knock-knock joke and said, Honestly, that isn't something high on my list that I care about.

He puts me in my place, is my point.

My other point? I will love him to the ends of the Earth and back, regardless of the outcome of this relationship.

And I will eternally regret if I ruin this.