Feeling: complacent
Listening to: nothing
Reading/Watching: Acorna, by Anne McCaffrey (if I can ever get it back from The Boy, that is)

I never realized exactly how much I need dopey things like online journals and buddy lists until I drove across the country to the Land of Crappy Internet and had to delay reading for 7 days.

I swear, I was beginning to get the shakes. That's some e-withdrawal.

But you. people. write. too. much. I felt so guilty for skimming some paragraphs, especially since I bet many people are skimming this paragraph right now.

Things about Day 1: Driving north through Texas to Abilene is mildly interesting through the hill country, then ugly. Followed by the east side of New Mexico: also ugly.

And then we had dinner with The Boy's twin brother and accompanying fianc�e, both of whom do not like and/or trust me because of my horrible, wretched, two-faced, evilevilevil treatment of the Innocent Bri, Patron Saint of Drama Queens, from whom I am blessedly and permanently severed. I thought we had a nice time, I was even relieved that they were so civil to me, having had bad impressions based on the rumors they've been told. And since I've always liked surprises, it's nice to know that people will smile and laugh at my jokes and have moments of community and warmth with me, and then talk about me behind my back to my boyfriend, about how I'm two-faced. So warm and fuzzy, that feeling.

Moving on. Arizona was gorgeous. I foolishly tried to read a book while mon coeur was driving along I-40, and had to stop and swivel my head in whichever direction he pointed out, to catch all the lovely. Green, and cliffs, and mountains, and rock formations, and Indian markets, and my Geology and Anthropology classes running through my head.

In L.A., we had hot dogs at Pink's with Sith, and promised to come back on our way home to spend a day at Universal Studios. He really wanted to spend more time with us. I think he's lonely.

The mountain mon coeur's mother lives on (yes, I said mountain) is unbelievable. I still find myself looking over the guardrail as we swoop up and down hairpin curves, down one side and up another, looking out over a gorge of trees and rocks and river and it always makes my breath catch and my ears pop.

The 3 or 47 animals living here seem to like me well enough, rushing in to be adored, although the dogs still whuff a little to make sure I know who's boss when we drive in from a day in teensy Auburn, CA. I am sunburned three different ways from days wandering the countryside, hiking to the trailer where he once lived, sitting on the porch talking for hours with his mother, and going to the Denio farmer's market, full of discarded wineglasses and carpets and African statues and fruit and taco stands.

I found a solid brass music stand, possibly antique, with the curvy lyre shape on top. His mom helped me bargain it down to $15. We both saw it from fifteen yards and came running simultaneously. Happy Katie.

But the best thing, the highlight, the thing that makes me close my eyes and smile to myself, is the way he and I talk about everything, the way he still reaches for my hand to point out something beautiful, when we've been driving thirteen hours and we're exhausted. It's the way he still looks and smiles at me for long, silent moments until I get self-conscious, but I love that he's looking.

It's the way this feels like always, and not drinking up every drop before the guillotine day of August 10th, when the air force steals him to a different hemisphere for a year, God a whole year, and I still cry in private when I remember, but I know we can handle it. We're not storing up smiles for distant days, we're just the way we are.

It's that moment, driving up narrow mountain passes, when the perfect song is singing and the world is green and blue and I'm smiling, and he just takes my hand, because he's there with me.

Say that we'll stay forever this way
Forever and forever, that we'll never have to change
Don't move, don't breathe
Don't change, don't leave
And promise me: say
We'll stay
We'll stay this way.
~ Jewel, "This Way"

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