Tonight I went out for drinks to dinner to drinks to dessert with one of my favorite people in KC, this guy:
He is officially the first boy I have ever dated who has managed to remain a close friend. I say 'officially' because while there have been several others, he and I are still friends despite living in the same zip code.
I recently began making a list of all the things I am thankful for - or things that make me happy. Sometimes I actually write them down. Sometimes it is more of a mental recognition. It is an awareness that has sprung up seemingly out of nowhere and sometimes makes me feel utterly self-indulgent, but I don't really care. Of all my OCD tendencies I suppose this is my healthiest compulsion.
Successfully searing tuna (or as successfully as someone as cooking deficient as I am can) - on the list.
Seeing photos of my younger cousins shot-gunning beers at the family reunion I missed because I was doing a play - on the list. Realizing that those same cousins are now becoming the next generation to make memories at my late grandparents' cabin - so, so on the list.
Pleasant exchange with the woman working the paint counter at Lowe's - on the list.
Doughnuts, Malbec, organic spinach - on the list. My smokin' hot yoga teacher - on the list.
Working my ass off on creative projects - or as the guy I mentioned above cleverly put it tonight, "working my ass ON" - on the list.
It has been a good summer. Great even, and I feel pretty fortunate to have had the company of kids like this one along for the ride.
Recently he and I met for happy hour/dinner - let's face it most of the time when we get together it is a "happy" hour regardless of the position of the sun - and we discussed our short-lived, ill-gotten romance.
He commented that I am now longer attractive to him, because I am no longer broken - no longer a "wounded bird".
How ironic it is that this past July, on my 27th birthday, I got this tattoo:
It is the symbol of the Chaika - Chekhov's "The Seagull" or the symbol of the character of Nina, a broken woman. It is also the symbol of the Moscow Art Theatre.
Tonight he made a joke about it being a reminder that that is no longer true. I am not broken and now I won't let myself be again. He is a good guy like that. He is a good guy period. And I am a brat and he puts up with it. Why? I have no idea.
This weekend my computer crashed and I lost all my photos from the last year. Tonight he brought me ones from our first non-fake date, pumpkin picking last fall in Weston. We rocked at fake dating. The real stuff was a bit more complicated, mainly because I was a confused mess and he was willing to indulge it.
These days I am trying to be a better person to him, while still hoping he will be a bit more of an ass, and wishing him nothing but happiness in the world.
V got me through a rough spot. He was kind enough to give me wings. Everyone should be so lucky.