Appreciation.

I have to learn to appreciate better. I consistently want to be appreciated but I need to learn to appreciate other things better. Perhaps there should be more exercises for appreciation in my life. February has, thus far, been an absolutely excellent month. Perhaps this has to do with a lack of consistent parent presence in my life, and perhaps it has to do with the fact that I've listened to half of my record collection in the past three days. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that everything's clean or I'm going to Feast for bloody marys in about 10 minutes. Or that I went to Via Carducci La Sorella with CA last weekend (that was the name of the romantic Italian restaurant--the reviews aren't good but I don't care. It was amazing.)

Perhaps it was my 3 hour conversation with ML at Brownstone earlier this week, despite the storms. I'm learning to brave the weather. I could attribute this partially to my finally buying a winter coat. Perhaps the long talk with S, while sitting on my radiator Friday afternoon. It could be a combination of all these things. Life has fit together well lately.

Or maybe, it's that even when things are not perfect, I've discovered a way of working them out. In that way, I need to be more appreciative. It was miserably cold last night. I didn't really know it because aside from running some things out to the trash and a box out to my car, I hadn't left the apartment. I'd finished reading "High Fidelity" (which is now in my top ten favorite books of all time, ever). It includes the quote:

"Fuck. When is this going to stop? When do I get too old for all of this?"

It also talked about how sometimes we run away from relationships because we realize that at some point, that person might die. We realize that they are not always going to be romantic dinners and sexy underwear. They are not always going to be perfect. I read the book because CA and I had watched the movie and I found it completely, totally brilliant. The book is even more brilliant. I should have taken this idea to heart. They are not always going to be perfect, but they're going to prove to you that they're worth it, if they really are.

Around 5, CA called and told me he wasn't feeling well and didn't want to do anything tonight. He often does not feel well and when I coax him out of his shell, he realizes that he was just exhausted from work. I assumed this was another one of those situations and I got (more than a) little pissy. I finally, after dealing with it tumultuously inside of me (and, to her credit, to S) for months told him he needs to be better about telling me when he's busy etc. I was pissy. I was insensitive. And I wasn't sorry about it.

But the thing was--he was sorry. He hadn't realized how insensitive he'd been with time. He told me that he understands he's a pain in the ass and needs alerting to that fact. He apologized profusely. He was not obtuse, did not panic and did not tell me he didn't love me anymore. None of the things that have previously happened when I've aired grievances happened. He didn't run because it wasn't perfect. He vowed to change it.

I was shocked.

Then he said to me, "Want to go to breakfast tomorrow?"
"No," I replied, stubbornly.
"Lunch?"
"No, I'm picking my parents up from the airport."
"Dinner?"
"No. Maybe."
"What can I do to make this better right now," he asked, hacking through his question. I still thought the hack was for dramatic effect. Faker.
"Nothing," I said. But, in the spirit of actually laying things out, I continued, "The thing is, we'll either hang out and I'll obsess about this all night and not sleep. Or we won't hang up and I'll cry and you'll feel worse. I'm really between a rock and a hard place, here."

"I'll come over around 830," he said.

So, despite not eating all day, I cracked open a bottle of wine, lit candles in my apartment and curled up under a blanket to read a scary book, "Not Flesh Nor Feathers" (the third and final book in this ghost book trilogy, which is weird because I don't normally like ghost books. But, I love the way these are written. [Tangent: I explained to CA that I love Steinbeck, Nick Hornsby, Amy Rosenthal, Hemingway and others for the same reason. Intentional writing. They don't futz around with words. They mean. It's funny, because I also love Dave Eggers and his writing is sprawling and incoherent at points. But, I love him because his incoherency is intentional too...]) He knocked on the door around 8:45 and came in shaking an hacking.

I gulped down my wine and felt really guilty. He was far from a faker; he was actually sick. "You look beautiful," he chocked out, as I took his coat off and held my fingers cupped over his ears to make the cold stop.

"You're trying to be nice," I responded, still smiling.

"No, you look wonderful," he said. He immediately collapsed on my bed, shivering and I covered him in a blanket.

"I'm so sorry. You're so sick. You shouldn't have come here."
"I wanted to."
"I know, but..."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry sweetie. I didn't know you felt like that. You've got to tell me things when you're thinking them. I'm such a pain in the ass."

I covered him with another blanket and didn't say anything for a long time. "You're not," I responded eventually, when he'd stopped shaking so much. "You're the best thing I've got going for me."

Without missing a beat, he responded, "Me too."

And in that moment, I was infinitely appreciative for him. Appreciative that he came here for two hours, despite the cold and the sick and the gross because he knew I was upset. Appreciative that when we smile in pictures he doesn't look far-away. Appreciative that he was so excited for us to go skiing this week. Appreciative that he was, honestly, one of the best things I've got going for me. He means the things he says, and as we laid there, talking about books, he said, "My mom wants you to read some books. She's going to love you, you know."

I need to be appreciative that for some strange reason, he's here and I'm here and even when he's sick, he's thinking about me.

"Meet me for lunch on Monday because you've got the day off?" he suggested. I said I could think of nothing better. So, maybe it never stops, the questioning and the whining and the wondering. But, learning to realize that they're not going to run just because you're upset is a big step in the right direction.

I said to S on Friday, "I'm getting tired of all of this. I want to be settled." She agreed. Then, when read more of "High Fidelity," she responds to Rob, "I'm too tired not to go out with you." It sounds unromantic in black and white but what it's saying, or what I believe it's saying is, "This is it. I know this is it and I'm too tired and too old and too much myself to pretend like it's not. I'm here and you're here and when that happens, I cannot think of anywhere else I'd rather be." I am myself here, around you. And that's the best thing in the world.

So, I've got a lot to appreciate this month. The heart-to-hearts, and the self-sufficiency. But most of all, the ability to use my voice. And have it be heard.