Open the (emotional) floodgates
Jul. 2nd, 2007 12:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eveglass"Hey, hey I guess it hasn't hit me yet." -- Blue Rodeo
As I write this, it is 12:30 pm, about 9 hours after I dropped Marc off at the airport this morning. In the interim, I had about 8 hours of sleep and one hour of puttering around the kitchen trying to figure out what to have for breakfast. Also, trying to get my emotions in check.
The problem is, I'm so conflicted emotionally right now, I have no idea what I'm feeling. On one hand, I had an absolutely amazing weekend. I got to spend time with Marc, for the first time in two months. How could that possibly be bad? Even letting him out of my sight for most of Saturday afternoon, I still got lots of Marc-time in, and we put it to good use. (Note: for all those people who seem fixated, this does not mean it was an uninterrupted sex-fest. It wasn't even uninterrupted physicality. It was still wonderful.)
Marc arrived around 11 pm Friday evening, and I was waiting for him at the airport. It took a good two or three minutes before we could be pried a few inches apart with a crowbar. Marc reveled in the cold humidity of Montreal summer air.
I had promised his family that I'd take him over to see them, along with the wedding party (the groom's family is close friends of Marc's family). As happened many times over the weekend, I allowed myself -- unusualy -- to stay behind the spotline and let Marc take centre stage. There were many hugs all around, a few introductions, and (as is typical at Marc's parents' place) much food. We got back to my place around 1 am and went to bed an hour later.
Saturday was a whirlwind. Due to scheduling conflicts, we wound up having breakfast with Marc's family at 7:30. Let me tell you, it was a struggle to wake up that early. But wake up we did, and we even arrived a narrow first to Cora's. Breakfast was tasty, involving good food and good conversation. From there, we stopped by Marc's apartment so he could pick up his suit, answer some mail, and generally feel like he's getting some value from the place he's paying rent at all summer.
We spent a few hours there before we reluctantly separated. I'd grudingly allowed Marc to spend the afternoon out of my sight, seeing close friends of his. I picked him up in the late evening, around 7:30. It was about 9 by the time we got home, due to a few errands we needed to run. Speaking of running, Marc had been trying to go for a run all day, and I decided I wouldn't stand in his way. So he went out running and I made dinner. I saw him outside my window as he got back, doing a few exercises on my front lawn. I grinned at my muscle-ly man as well as the occasional passerby obviously wondering, "what the heck is going on." By the time we'd eaten dinner, it was 10:30. I pulled out a surprise present: hagen-daaz cookie-dough ice cream. It was eaten. It was tasty. The rest of the evening was a lot of fun.
Sunday we actually managed to sleep in, not needing to be anywhere until the late afternoon. We stayed in my room most of the day, and it was lovely. Then we got spiffied up, visited Ian and Kyn, checked out Ian's new apartment (now with furniture!), and headed over to the wedding.
It was a good wedding. It had been a while since I'd been to a blow-out Jewish wedding, and this one pulled, if not all the stops, then at least most of them. There was so. much. food. I mean, so much food. The cocktail tables alone would have satisfied me, and there was a whole meal coming up after. I definitely shouldn't have taken a second plate from the overflowing desert tables. In all honesty, I probably shouldn't have taken a first. But it was muchly tasty.
The ceremony was very nice, very traditional. The wedding booklets were less traditional but very funny, including such things as "10 fun things to do at a wedding" and funny quotes about marriage.
The reception involved lots of dancing, mostly wedding staples. Also, a hora. It had been a while since I'd danced the hora. I like dancing the hora. I also got to see a few high-school friends who'd kept in touch with the bride (who had also gone to high school with me). It's interesting to see what everyone's up to now.
Throughout the evening, the realization was dawning that the clock was coming ever-closer to the time Marc and I would need to separate. Around 1:45, we left the synagogue, among the last 15 people in the hall (out of a guest list of about 200). We stopped into a Tim Horton's for hot beverage and some final conversation. It was everything I'd missed about Marc: the chance to sit and talk, intersperced with a few kisses and lots of hand-holding. We stayed there for an hour, knowing in the back of both of our minds that soon I would need to drive him to the airport.
The time came at 3 am. I drove slowly, trying to drag out the moment as long as possible. I pulled up to the terminal. We hugged. We kissed. I promised myself I wouldn't cry while he was there, and I didn't. I wished him safe travels, and then he was gone. The "no crying" rule lasted until I reached the end of the terminal pull-out.
Despite the sad goodbye, it was an awesome weekend. We did everything we wanted to do, and a bit more. Marc got to spend a few days in Montreal in the summer, for the first time in a decade. The weather even cooperated. I hadn't expected to see my at all this summer, so I am truly, deeply grateful I had the chance, even for only two days.
The bad news, of course, is that now I don't get to see him again until at least October.
My room is still set up from the weekend. Everywhere I look, I've got reminders of Marc. The extra-large bed is still set up, as opposed to my usual twin. The mugs are still here from the chai we had yesterday. His towel is hanging over my door. I look at the corner and picture his bag sitting there, where it was all weekend. I imagine his side of the bed (a side that generally doesn't exist) still occupied. I hear him singing softly in my ear.
In May, Marc left for the summer and I had every indication I wouldn't be seeing him until the late fall. I deliberately arranged my schedule so that I would be busy every day for about two weeks afterwards, distracted by friends who understood my predicament. This time round, I don't necessarily have that option. I'll be working four days a week, this week and next week, but it's a stressful kind of work because I haven't done it before. It's the kind of work where I'll want to go home afterwards, curl up with my boyfriend, and talk about the successes or failures I've had. I've got a few social things planned, and of course the Jazz fest is in town, so hopefully that'll allow me some distraction. But it won't be the same as in May.
The first step is cleaning up my room: removing the day bed, bringing the mugs upstairs and the towels down the hall to the laundry room, folding up the sleeping bag we used for an extra blanket. After that, I've got "real" stuff to do, stuff like lesson planning and writing the much-overdo Daily Breadcumbs. Hopefully, it'll be enough to hold back the emotional floodgates.
In the meantime, I still feel his arms around my shoulders, his breath brushing my cheek, his lips pressed against mine. I miss him so much.
As I write this, it is 12:30 pm, about 9 hours after I dropped Marc off at the airport this morning. In the interim, I had about 8 hours of sleep and one hour of puttering around the kitchen trying to figure out what to have for breakfast. Also, trying to get my emotions in check.
The problem is, I'm so conflicted emotionally right now, I have no idea what I'm feeling. On one hand, I had an absolutely amazing weekend. I got to spend time with Marc, for the first time in two months. How could that possibly be bad? Even letting him out of my sight for most of Saturday afternoon, I still got lots of Marc-time in, and we put it to good use. (Note: for all those people who seem fixated, this does not mean it was an uninterrupted sex-fest. It wasn't even uninterrupted physicality. It was still wonderful.)
Marc arrived around 11 pm Friday evening, and I was waiting for him at the airport. It took a good two or three minutes before we could be pried a few inches apart with a crowbar. Marc reveled in the cold humidity of Montreal summer air.
I had promised his family that I'd take him over to see them, along with the wedding party (the groom's family is close friends of Marc's family). As happened many times over the weekend, I allowed myself -- unusualy -- to stay behind the spotline and let Marc take centre stage. There were many hugs all around, a few introductions, and (as is typical at Marc's parents' place) much food. We got back to my place around 1 am and went to bed an hour later.
Saturday was a whirlwind. Due to scheduling conflicts, we wound up having breakfast with Marc's family at 7:30. Let me tell you, it was a struggle to wake up that early. But wake up we did, and we even arrived a narrow first to Cora's. Breakfast was tasty, involving good food and good conversation. From there, we stopped by Marc's apartment so he could pick up his suit, answer some mail, and generally feel like he's getting some value from the place he's paying rent at all summer.
We spent a few hours there before we reluctantly separated. I'd grudingly allowed Marc to spend the afternoon out of my sight, seeing close friends of his. I picked him up in the late evening, around 7:30. It was about 9 by the time we got home, due to a few errands we needed to run. Speaking of running, Marc had been trying to go for a run all day, and I decided I wouldn't stand in his way. So he went out running and I made dinner. I saw him outside my window as he got back, doing a few exercises on my front lawn. I grinned at my muscle-ly man as well as the occasional passerby obviously wondering, "what the heck is going on." By the time we'd eaten dinner, it was 10:30. I pulled out a surprise present: hagen-daaz cookie-dough ice cream. It was eaten. It was tasty. The rest of the evening was a lot of fun.
Sunday we actually managed to sleep in, not needing to be anywhere until the late afternoon. We stayed in my room most of the day, and it was lovely. Then we got spiffied up, visited Ian and Kyn, checked out Ian's new apartment (now with furniture!), and headed over to the wedding.
It was a good wedding. It had been a while since I'd been to a blow-out Jewish wedding, and this one pulled, if not all the stops, then at least most of them. There was so. much. food. I mean, so much food. The cocktail tables alone would have satisfied me, and there was a whole meal coming up after. I definitely shouldn't have taken a second plate from the overflowing desert tables. In all honesty, I probably shouldn't have taken a first. But it was muchly tasty.
The ceremony was very nice, very traditional. The wedding booklets were less traditional but very funny, including such things as "10 fun things to do at a wedding" and funny quotes about marriage.
The reception involved lots of dancing, mostly wedding staples. Also, a hora. It had been a while since I'd danced the hora. I like dancing the hora. I also got to see a few high-school friends who'd kept in touch with the bride (who had also gone to high school with me). It's interesting to see what everyone's up to now.
Throughout the evening, the realization was dawning that the clock was coming ever-closer to the time Marc and I would need to separate. Around 1:45, we left the synagogue, among the last 15 people in the hall (out of a guest list of about 200). We stopped into a Tim Horton's for hot beverage and some final conversation. It was everything I'd missed about Marc: the chance to sit and talk, intersperced with a few kisses and lots of hand-holding. We stayed there for an hour, knowing in the back of both of our minds that soon I would need to drive him to the airport.
The time came at 3 am. I drove slowly, trying to drag out the moment as long as possible. I pulled up to the terminal. We hugged. We kissed. I promised myself I wouldn't cry while he was there, and I didn't. I wished him safe travels, and then he was gone. The "no crying" rule lasted until I reached the end of the terminal pull-out.
Despite the sad goodbye, it was an awesome weekend. We did everything we wanted to do, and a bit more. Marc got to spend a few days in Montreal in the summer, for the first time in a decade. The weather even cooperated. I hadn't expected to see my at all this summer, so I am truly, deeply grateful I had the chance, even for only two days.
The bad news, of course, is that now I don't get to see him again until at least October.
My room is still set up from the weekend. Everywhere I look, I've got reminders of Marc. The extra-large bed is still set up, as opposed to my usual twin. The mugs are still here from the chai we had yesterday. His towel is hanging over my door. I look at the corner and picture his bag sitting there, where it was all weekend. I imagine his side of the bed (a side that generally doesn't exist) still occupied. I hear him singing softly in my ear.
In May, Marc left for the summer and I had every indication I wouldn't be seeing him until the late fall. I deliberately arranged my schedule so that I would be busy every day for about two weeks afterwards, distracted by friends who understood my predicament. This time round, I don't necessarily have that option. I'll be working four days a week, this week and next week, but it's a stressful kind of work because I haven't done it before. It's the kind of work where I'll want to go home afterwards, curl up with my boyfriend, and talk about the successes or failures I've had. I've got a few social things planned, and of course the Jazz fest is in town, so hopefully that'll allow me some distraction. But it won't be the same as in May.
The first step is cleaning up my room: removing the day bed, bringing the mugs upstairs and the towels down the hall to the laundry room, folding up the sleeping bag we used for an extra blanket. After that, I've got "real" stuff to do, stuff like lesson planning and writing the much-overdo Daily Breadcumbs. Hopefully, it'll be enough to hold back the emotional floodgates.
In the meantime, I still feel his arms around my shoulders, his breath brushing my cheek, his lips pressed against mine. I miss him so much.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-07-02 06:11 pm (UTC):(
Date: 2007-07-02 06:33 pm (UTC)Long-distance is suuper tough. I can only wish you best of luck getting through it, and I'm sorry for the suckiness of missing someone. I'm glad you had a good weekend!
no subject
Date: 2007-07-03 01:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-03 04:32 am (UTC)Yeah, LDRs are teh suck... :-(
If I can help in any way, let me know...
We've got a wii now --- you can come over and play silly games with us, if you like...
no subject
Date: 2007-07-05 12:44 am (UTC)How long is this planned as a LDR? Are you moving there eventually, or him here - or is he there only temporarily?
no subject
Date: 2007-07-05 02:24 am (UTC)