Now. Then. Previous. Next. Random. Ernst. Fallen. Crush. Notes&Quotes. Profile. Rings.
I'trêm breit vulaçozão ye spalla eiátlin nelöffnes pieqi aummit su berwegr'ra'ao.


Friday, Oct. 11, 2002 -
Apóslâmin ida corbalanyrtne 'lsão rohl'daathiém vá nença iroyssÿrd.

This explains everything.


I'm at the green waste management center, sweeping the last of the pine needles out of the big dump truck, when the Fiend pages me. (I resisted the cajolery* of the twenty-first century as long as I could, but I finally broke down and acquired a pager and a cell phone, like the rest of the sheep.) I call him back after the truck is clean.

"You comin' home soon?" asks my beloved.

"Pretty soon, " I say, "I have to drop off the truck. I was gonna stop at Trader Joe's on the way home--want anything?

"Don't stop," sez the Fiend.

"No? What's up?"

"We are. Or we will be, when you get home. I called to ask you if it's all right if Jer and I get naked and get into bed. We'll wait for you. You won't miss anything. We're just going to kiss and cuddle and be naked together."

Picturing this, I make a small breathing sound that I can only inadequately write as, "Ouwhhh..."

"Is that okay with you?" The Fiend needs to hear that I don't feel left out. This is what Jer has done to us, made our love all new and green, with a sweet and courteous faltering. Which is not to say that, before Jer, our relationship had ripened into a wrinkled and ruddy maturity. At 6 months (or 8 months, if you go back to the first date) the season of love between the Fiend and I is still a blossoming spring. And has become even more tender since our recent crisis. Which, in retrospect, looking at it through the thickening haze of time, has become less of a crisis and more like...well, you know, one of those thangs. What healthy relationship doesn't have its share of fights, eh? None worth fighting for, surely. And the fall-out from this particular quarrel has engendered little more than a little more complaisance, a little more solicitousness for each other. Which is a good thing, don'tcha think? Although the Fiend is especially wary of hurting me again, and sometimes treats me with such a hellishly annoying delicacy that I have to grab him and haul him off to bed, riling him up and inciting him to a bit of sexual roughhousing. To demonstrate that I'm no languishing flower, I suppose. But mainly because it's fun. And afterwards, when we talk, I can use it as an illustration of how a little pain can be useful.


*That's a damn good word, ain't it? That one's going into my collection, along with stymie. I'm starting a collection of words like that. Like intaglio and ecru and afrit and ubiquitous. I can't really express what makes these words so damn good. Their quality is clear but ineffable. (Ooh, ineffable's a damn good word too. Gotta put that one on the list.)

Another damn good word is cavort. Thank you, Marn.

I have no idea what I'm going to do on International Cavorting Day, but I hope it will involve rain and complete nudity.

Apóslâmin ida corbalanç 'lse nesgla ugaró-cham sa cru ogrulho batãoltha alémvásde.

last eleven:

Resurrection - Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Arts and Letters -
Friday, June 17, 2005
Domestic Obsessions -
Tuesday, April 5, 2005
The Kindness of Strangers -
Tuesday, April 5, 2005
Gone -
Saturday, April 2, 2005
Coming Back, Little By Little -
Saturday, April 2, 2005
Effing Around -
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Explicably Yours -
Wednesday, February 9, 2005
Things Too Innumerable To Mention -
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Mr. Armstrong -
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
The Pope in Our Kitchen -
Saturday, October 2, 2004

<- Z @ D ->

Sa r'jião ossível meninonceiv êo poshik mä'änch uscantebatahla oÿr musiu oÿr muiko.
Copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005 by gcs

This site is best viewed at 1024 by 768 pixels, or 1152 by 864 pixels, with fonts
Times New Roman, Verdana, Book Antiqua and QuantasBroadLight. Click HERE
to add this diary to your list of favorites.