Extra Giddy...

I’m racing up Milwaukee in heeled shiny boots, a dress, and my favorite red purse I bought in Stockholm lifetime ago. Well, that’s quite an exaggeration but it’s what it feels like at this point. I feel I have these chunks of life that are separate from each other because I was and am so different when I compare one chunk of life to another.
After I finished up at the gym this morning, Jeff texted me asking if I’d like to get lunch before he had to head to work. His schedule in a way resembles my former one as an assistant. It’s always changing from week to week. I haven’t had the chance yet to get used to having a set one again, but am enjoying the idea of it.
We agree on the Bongo Room. He’s never been and I have plenty of delicious and wonderful memories of the place from my first visit on my 26th birthday with Kat, to going every time I had an interview, to starting the first day of my life here in Chicago with breakfast from there, to eating alone, with friends, and now with Jeff.
I see him sitting at a table in corner and feel my face light up as his does the same.
“Hi!” I exclaim as he stands to hug me.
“How are you?”
“Good! How are you?” I sit and lean forward wanting to fall into him.
He nods. “Good.”
We stare at each other, smiling. I feel my toes curl in my boots, unable to hold his gaze for too long before shifting my eyes to the menu.
“You look nice.” he tells me. “I like your boots.”
“Thank you. So do you. I like your shirt.”
Dating while having an eating disorder is quite the dilemma. I use the fact that I’m on a date as an excuse to eat whatever I want and deal with the consequences later. This is how the trouble starts and snowballs into insanity. I don’t know how to balance it. I know that for today, to maintain my hard earned sanity I need to order a salad but find myself saying “red velvet pancakes” to the girl taking our order. When they arrive though, I don’t focus on them but on Jeff and his words, strung together into sentences describing his life, his work and find myself sharing details of my own life and work with such ease that it’s taking me aback a little bit. It’s like having my big toe sticking out of the wall I’ve been hiding behind testing the ground to see if it’s solid and safe. The toe is out there wiggling around until Jeff’s hand reaches for it, holds it’s and gently pulls it forward until my foot is exposed. Just the foot though.
After lunch we decide to get tea at a little place on Damen that a friend of his, James, just opened. We sit on a couch that matches my purple dress and continue our conversations about our younger selves, music, past job experiences etc… until he’s got to get to work. I’m not wanting the afternoon to end. We walk to the train and again find ourselves at the corner of Damen, Milwaukee and North Ave saying goodbye and agreeing to hang out tomorrow.
“I mean, if that’s ok.” he says. “I don’t want to eat up all of your time.”
Eat away my dear…
“Of course it’s ok!” I giggle. He hugs me hard and we go our separate ways.
I’ve officially had too much caffeine and am shaking by the time I get home. I quickly inhale lunch, barely tasting the sandwich I threw together and change into my running clothes. I quickly get that out of the way and shower trying to make it on time for OA. I don’t though and resign to staying home and working on my novel. I’m having trouble with the beginning. I’ve written some “middle” stuff but I’m not settled on how to start it. This is my third attempt and I’m trying it from starting on the morning of April 20th, the day that Rob died.
I’m alone at my kitchen table trying to get to a place mentally that will allow me to write about all of this. I have my journal out from that day and am trying to read it without getting too overwhelmed. I write but mostly sit there and stare out the window as if the words are going to write themselves. My roommate comes home and gives me shit for coming home late last night, assuming I was with Jeff.
“I work late on Tuesday.” I blandly say.
“No you don’t. You never work that late.” he nearly snaps.
“I do, and I commute!” I’m starting to snap. I don’t owe anyone an explanation for my whereabouts yet I feel like I have to defend myself.
He believes I’m already spending too much time with Jeff. I believe that’s no one’s business but mine. He continues to express his feelings on the matter before I snap yet again “Maybe I’m a fun date!” I’m surprised at this exclamation. I’m surprised I said it but even more surprised that I actually believe it. For the first time in my life I feel I’m worth dating, and maybe, just maybe I am deserving of someone else’s love.
I didn’t plan on spending so much time with Jeff, and am judgmental of my own process so I feel extra sensitive to my roommate’s observations. Still though, I feel ok with it and plan to keep going whether or not I spend every day with Jeff or simply see him once a week. I like him. Why can’t I just be ok with that?
Back to novel writing. I put my iPOD in when the television is turned on. I try to concentrate. I just want to be alone. My head is getting caught up in future stuff. I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to write about a million different other things. If I could just focus on one sentence at a time, that would be great. Easier said than done.
I stop and decide to go back and read some messages that were sent after Rob died from people expressing their condolences through MySpace. I haven’t looked at these in a while. It’s excruciating, wonderful, comforting, and unbelievable. I feel I’m reading about someone else’s life, like I’m not in my body right now. I’m crying reading a message from a girl I worked with at Salonred explaining that Rob will “visit” me in various ways, I just have to remember to be open to seeing it. Being many steps ahead from that time in my life, I feel that I can look back now and “see” all the ways he reminds me that he’s still around me.
I stop reading and ask Rob if I’m supposed to be reading this right now…if everything I’ve seen is him and if I’m on the right path. Minutes later “Addicted” plays on my iPOD and I feel my heart may explode. My insides though feel as if they’re being washed by something calming, something that is involuntarily drying my tears and making me sit up a little straighter.
I need to take a walk. I don’t want to be in the house. I want my head to clear. I quickly fire off an email to mom having no idea what I just wrote when I click “send” and wander to bed.