Saturday, February 12, 2011

A Way of Remembering

Evidence of Wind


Peering Out the Window

An Unusual Week (2/08-2/11/11)

This week was a little tough for me, I’ll admit.  I am not accustomed to balancing my romance against the pressure of work and home, so there was some tension this week when my handsome man-friend showed up on Tuesday and stayed until Friday afternoon.  Matt was in town this week on business; it was a sweet bonus for us both that I happen to be here too.  Usually for us, there is a pretty hefty divide between work and fun such that when Matt and I are together, we are on vacation, even if it’s just for the weekend.  I suppose we are spoiled that way.  It does make life easier, though I miss him when he’s not within hugging distance.  Our mode of togetherness wouldn’t work for everyone, but it works quite well for us.  This week there was a certain sweetness in knowing that while we attended to our respective work obligations, we’d get to see each other at the end of the day.  It’s the same nice feeling I have where we’re in the same space but doing separate things: I just like having him around.

Early in the week, the weather became quite inhospitable.  In an effort to keep up my aerobic capacity, I rode the bike to work on Tuesday.  I don’t recall what the morning was like, but by evening, a cold front had rolled into town, and the sky was a steely grey color, like a fierce wind made visible with wintry paints.  My ride home was freezing cold, and the wind frightened me with its strength.  I was glad to lock up the bike and scuttle inside to my cozy apartment.

Wednesday was a hectic day; the only real exercise I got was hoofing it across campus in my heels to attend a talk.  I bought those heels somewhat on a whim; I don’t really think of myself as someone who wears heels on a regular basis.  But now that I own two pairs, I’ve been wearing the buckle pair on a semi-regular basis—maybe once every week or two.  I think my feet are getting used to the heels because my walk across campus was close to 25 minutes, and my feet felt completely fine.  I even enjoyed the professional feeling that heels inspire, like I’m really going places in life, even if it’s just to the other end of campus.

Thursday was, thank goodness, a day off.  Matt and I pretended Thursday was Saturday, and we had all kinds of fun.  We went ice skating, ate pizza, lounged by the fire at a coffee shop, and cooked dinner together.  We exchanged thoughts on what attracts us to a person (for the record, I think I fit all of two categories on Matt’s long list: I’m athletic and not blonde).  We had a serious conversation about whether and how food blogging fits into the much larger history of food and cooking.  And of course, because it was his last night in town for a while, I stayed up too late talking to him but somehow managed to get up the next morning, even though I did not set my alarm clock.  Wine does that to me—I never sleep as late as I think I will if I have been drinking the night before.

On Friday, I exchanged my sweetheart for my sneakers.  After kissing him good-bye, I finished up my work day and laced up my sneakers for an evening run.  I hadn’t run since Sunday for a variety of reasons (too cold, Matt’s visit, ice skating), but by Friday, I was in need of a good run.  I did my normal loop to complete a 31-minute run, followed by some gentle stretching and a few push-ups.  It felt good to get out there again and be alone except for the sound of my own footsteps against the pavement.  Matt is an intense person, and spending a lot of time with him can be overwhelming, even though I love every minute of it.  It’s become a habit of mine to go running after he leaves.  It lets me clear my head, think about what we said and did together.  It also makes it easier to return to the apartment that is now missing the signs of his presence—his bag, his shoes, the miscellaneous things he places on the coffee table.  It can be hard to sit in the silence after he’s gone.  Sometimes it feels lonely.  But running is something that I never do with him, so I think the very act is a way of remembering that I’ll be fine without him.

And I am.  Though he is never far from my thoughts.

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