I just got off the phone with a man. Not so unusual except that this man has been in my life more on the phone than in person. Interesting way to keep a relationship going. I've never done this before, but I must say it's tantalizing and very fulfilling in the strangest ways. It's made me use my energy to tap into him so that I can feel him without his physical presence. I can feel him without sometimes even thinking about him. I may be working on a new design in my studio when suddenly a rush comes over me from feet to head. I can be walking down the hall when passing through a pocket of him. He washes over me.
I am content living here without him. I've never felt that way about a man before. Always it was a must-have, a must-see-him overwhelming feeling. How I feel about him energizes me, revs me up to do more here, to create more, to envision more, to expand more. Would I love to have him come through my studio door? You bet I would, and I'm okay without that happening also.
My missing him comes at unexpected moments like last night at Cadillac Pizza Pub listening to live blues and sipping wine with a dear friend. I missed him most last night. I knew if he had been there the music would have been that much more sweeter. I miss touching him, my shoulder against his. Something that small, that minute is something I miss more than I thought possible.
Another thing I miss is kissing him. You know, those quick pecks on the lips when we'd be standing outside in downtown Steamboat, making plans for later in the evenings. Outside Boathouse Pub before driving to my apartment after drinks or on the sidewalk on Lincoln Avenue after coffee at The Steamin' Bean.
It was fun getting out of the shower with a towel on my head and in he'd walk through my front door, stripping off his clothes, and scooping me up.
Or, sitting at Mambo's bar with Jamie after work on a Friday drinking a Cabernet and hearing about her day when suddenly in the stool beside me would be this delicious man. He would just know where I was and show up. Uncanny. It never ceased to surprise me.
And now there's another New Year's Eve without him here, or is he? Or, was he here last year? Sometimes my world gets so jumbled that nothing seems clear anymore. There are no blacks and whites. There's this great big beautiful fuzziness of electric colors, the colors of rainbows swirling around me creating realities that are so fleeting and magical. One blurs into another and into another until I know for sure one thing -- I know nothing.
On West Wing yesterday morning, Leo, chief of staff to the president, tells his deputy: "I no longer know what winning looks like."
It's all just one crazy psychedelic blur. It's an acid trip that doesn't go away.