(Disclaimer: This is very, very long. It took two and a half hours to write, and I still feel it's shorter than I'd like. I also don't particularly expect it to be interesting to anyone else. I'm counting on the length and minutiae making no one else read it. This is probably the purest diary entry I've ever written. I don't want anyone to read it, really, though I don't care if they do. I just want everything recorded here, so that's what I'm doing.)

Let's do this chronologically. Eyes closed. Remembering.

I spent early yesterday somewhere between nervous and excited. Finished reading Saint Augustine's Confessions in my bed, because it was my goal to finish it before he came. Tried to figure out what to wear for some time, and eventually settled on a red tshirt with a glitter dragon running across its entirety, a long black velvet skirt, pink fishnets, and black velvet, high-heeled shoes. Makeup was minimal, just powder, foundation, and purple mascara. I couldn't decide if I wanted to wear any at all, and this seemed a decent compromise. I sat watching Fox News with my grandmother, ranting about politics, answering questions she had about the guest that would be arriving, and preparing food for myself.

Cell phone rang, I handed it around and gave out numbers to arrange the getting-of-better-directions from at least two people besides myself. And that was fine, even if I was a little miffed by it. Hand-wringing, because I know how hard this place is to find.

He arrived an hour behind schedule (exactly as I expected, oddly enough), at 7pm. Welcomed, quieted dog, instructed him towards the food (both my icky vegan food and the ham my grandmother cooked--despite what I tease people with, I'm not much of a nazi). Watched him eat, since I'd eaten not too long previously. Drank insane amounts of water. Was flustered horribly, and I can only hope it came off as cute. Because, really, it's not something I could help. But we talked over his food, and he handed me a mix cd (and he has good taste in music, though not really identical to mine in any way, so this is good in many ways), and I calmed down, for the most part, by the time we got up.

I was in babbling mode. A bit nervous, but doing it anyway, really. I alternate between babbling in that manner and being on the quiet side even with my family, so I figure this is a good sign.

We get up, and my grandmother had retired to her room shortly after he arrived, so we talked on the couch. God knows what all about. It involved me getting up and pulling out a dictionary twice, which amused me. Somewhere during all of this he noticed a tic of mine, while we were drinking some jasmine tea, which is that I lick the rim of my glass after each sip I take of anything. This startled me a bit, because it's something I barely notice myself doing, and certainly never expected anyone else to. It was lovely.

And then he said he had a sudden urge to watch boys in glitter, and, well. We all know I'm always up for watching Velvet Goldmine, so... Transfer of my television/dvdplayer from my room to where he was sleeping, as the bed there's a good deal bigger. (Mine's insane.) Angsted over how to get it to work, because my associations with technology are always ridden with troubles. He figured it out, apparently, while I simultaneously realised what the problem was in the next room. And we watched pretty boys kiss and lie naked in bed together and make out. And there was straightness in the movie as well, of course, but. It was beautiful. We gushed. Him more than me, which is just bloody beautiful, in my opinion. Also talked about the music and generalised imagery in the film, as well as trying to place a few suspected quotes, because they're all such integral parts of the film. That, and it's not as though neither of us had seen it before. Ending up holding hands and pressing our heads together in the during the segment where Arthur follows Curt after a show and...well...have sex. (I never realised how hedonistic this movie was before.) Which provoked a 'Thank God' response in my head, because he'd been running his hand along my arm for a bit before that, and it was practically making me cry. Certainly made my heart skip several beats.

Movie ended. We were tangled up in each other, and I patently Did Not Want to Move. I'd been dismayed at any movement I made that pulled me even an inch further from him for some time before the film ended, and now I had to get up to stop the credits rolling. Bother. Disentangled myself, slid off the bed (because this is what I do), stopped the movie. It's probably still in the player, actually. Heh. Turned off the television, crawled back onto the bed. Re-tangled. Talked. About why David Bowie is the antichrist, among other splendid things. Much giggling, on my part. Often completely unprovoked, outside of my generalised happiness. Kissed, after a while. And I was nervous the first time, because I've never kissed anyone while sober before, and I've never actually enjoyed the drunken kissing I've engaged in. The first time I kept it going because it was fascinating and I didn't really want to do anything else with the girl, despite my drunkenness. The second time I kissed because it seemed rude to refuse, since he was being so kind as to bite me. Biting is a big favour for me. Just ask, I'll let you do it anytime, whether I like you or not. But this was entirely different from either of those experiences. It was actually enjoyable. From a person I was desperately trying not to adore quite so much while lying on a bed with him. And. The physical sensations were actually. It was. Oh. It was good. I enjoyed it immensely. Once I found out it was lovely to do we spent as much time kissing as talking, for most of the time he was out here.

It's horrible, I know. But you'll have to excuse me. I've never really been alive before, so I am immensely fascinated by all of these things.

...He was shaking at one point, that night. That was something I hadn't been anticipating at all. Me, yes. Him, no. But he did also. That came near to making me cry as well.

The clock in the room had been working previously, but sometime this week it stopped working. By the time I noticed it, I was quite glad. I did want it to stay 7:46 for the rest of the night.

Around 2am he got hungry, so we went to the kitchen and ate some fruit. And found out what time it actually was, obviously.

We went to my room, after that, so that I could hear songs from the bands he's in. Two versions of a song with lyrics written by another friend of mine (and his, of course), and other songs as well, some of which were unfinished. I've been a fan of one of the bands he's in for longer than it really clicked that he was in it, so this was a genuinely enjoyable experience even for a famed music snob such as myself. Whenever music is on I space out more than a little bit, so this period was mostly spent commenting on the music and listening to it. Then the normal spiel, hugkiss, and letting him go off to his room and sleep. Or, more accurately, to read some of the Brothers Karamazov, and then to sleep. (Among the very first things he did when he came into my room earlier that day was examine my book collection. This was, of course, entirely what I expected of him, and made me smile. It's also exactly the same thing I did when I first got to enter his room years ago, even though he wasn't there to watch me do it at the time.)

Listened to mix cd he made while halfheartedly catching up with what I'd missed online. Went to bed. Almost swore off sleeping, but eventually dropped off at 5:30 in the morning. Was exquisitely happy. (And that's not all!)

Woke up at 10:00 or so to take a shower and get dressed (suspension shirt, black thrift shop jeans, striped pooh socks, mary janes, same makeup). Lied down on the couch with the dog until a little while before he woke up, waiting. Ate an orange as he ate cheerios for breakfast. (My grandmother worried more about food for him than anything, I'm amused by it because he ended up doing exactly what I expected to, and not eating any of the food she bought purely out of this worry.) Put on corduroy jacket and walked out to the pond on our property. We sat huddled together (mostly) because of the cold, and talked about shaving your head as an act of friendly solidarity, medieval astronomers with gold noses, what's happening on an atomic level when the water ripples, memories, literature, and each other. We are, truly, utterly ridiculous. I type these things out and wonder if anyone else in the world would find them fascinating at all. Certainly most would find them incredibly pompous, on the whole. But we both legitimately enjoy them, completely without pretense. It's just amazing, really. I never thought I'd find another person who looked at these sorts of things in such a similar way to myself, and found such similar things utterly fascinating. Especially not when said person is good at putting me at ease. And enjoys watching the water glitter with tiny specks of sunlight as much as I do.

We walked back to the house, went to my room, and listened to music. Voltaire's Banned on Vulcan EP, whence I learnt that Jack was formerly a Star Trek junkie. Which raises his dork level even higher than I'd previously supposed; This Busy Monster's Fireworks, because I want everyone in the world to hear them; and Azure Ray's Hold On Love, because I wanted to finally put on an album that wouldn't distract me from him with lyrically inspired giggling fits. Behaved much as before with these on, other than him looking up the route to go home on the computer. And discounting my having been carried across the room to turn off the computer screen, after he was done with this, because I (stupidly) noted that it was on and that I didn't want to move. We both became progressively sadder and quieter though, especially during Azure Ray, because we knew he had to leave after that.

Oh! Oh! I forgot, and I have to mention this so...um...I don't forget again. While we were lying rather awkwardly on my insanely small bed, and he was leaning over me (why do I feel the need to share all these details? Oh. Wait. No one's going to read this anyway. Too long. Carrying on), he nicked a quote from Oscar Wilde (which is also in Velvet Goldmine, but...) and said it to me. He cleared it with me for the first half of the quote, because he couldn't quite remember it, and I fumbled for it. So it was more me saying the quote ('The world has changed since you were made of ivory and gold, the curves of your lips rewrite history.') for him, but it's still one of those scenarios (like having cheesy Shakespeare quoted to me, and watching Velvet Goldmine with a boy who's just as attracted to the boys and girls as I am, and being given a mixtape on a first date, and talking about incredibly pretentious books, music, and concepts) that I've daydreamed about happening. So I really had to mention it.

We sat on the floor holding each other for the last half of Hold On Love, appropriately enough. Then I put on my hoodie, he gathered his stuff, and I walked him out. Hugged and kissed him goodbye one last time, and walked back inside, head down.

The grandmother told him he should come back whenever he likes, which is good, but. I don't know when I'll get to see him again. I really, really didn't want to do a long distance thing. And it does seem like that's what I'm going to end up doing. Talking on the phone a lot and wishing he was here.

We're too good for each other. Perfect for each other, perhaps, though neither of us are perfect at all on a general scale. And it makes too much sense for us to be together for us not to be.

Our tastes and outlooks compliment each other's. Out interests converge a lot, though we tend to emphasise and obsess over different areas. It's just ideal, really.

I just wish he didn't live several states away.

revoless.
2:58 p.m.
March 07, 2004.
Listening to: Fuck, Azure Ray, Elliott Smith.

comments? 2.

In which I go against my rational mind and rant about a boy or The books I read always affect how I think.