Dyke in Transition

Wow.

2005-09-09T00:33:24Z

This National Geographic article was written almost exactly one year ago. A sampling of the first part:

It was a broiling August afternoon in New Orleans, Louisiana, the Big Easy, the City That Care Forgot. Those who ventured outside moved as if they were swimming in tupelo honey. Those inside paid silent homage to the man who invented air-conditioning as they watched TV "storm teams" warn of a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico. Nothing surprising there: Hurricanes in August are as much a part of life in this town as hangovers on Ash Wednesday.

But the next day the storm gathered steam and drew a bead on the city. As the whirling maelstrom approached the coast, more than a million people evacuated to higher ground. Some 200,000 remained, however—the car-less, the homeless, the aged and infirm, and those die-hard New Orleanians who look for any excuse to throw a party.

The storm hit Breton Sound with the fury of a nuclear warhead, pushing a deadly storm surge into Lake Pontchartrain. The water crept to the top of the massive berm that holds back the lake and then spilled over. Nearly 80 percent of New Orleans lies below sea level—more than eight feet below in places—so the water poured in. A liquid brown wall washed over the brick ranch homes of Gentilly, over the clapboard houses of the Ninth Ward, over the white-columned porches of the Garden District, until it raced through the bars and strip joints on Bourbon Street like the pale rider of the Apocalypse. As it reached 25 feet (eight meters) over parts of the city, people climbed onto roofs to escape it.

Thousands drowned in the murky brew that was soon contaminated by sewage and industrial waste. Thousands more who survived the flood later perished from dehydration and disease as they waited to be rescued. It took two months to pump the city dry, and by then the Big Easy was buried under a blanket of putrid sediment, a million people were homeless, and 50,000 were dead. It was the worst natural disaster in the history of the United States.

When did this calamity happen? It hasn't—yet. But the doomsday scenario is not far-fetched. The Federal Emergency Management Agency lists a hurricane strike on New Orleans as one of the most dire threats to the nation, up there with a large earthquake in California or a terrorist attack on New York City. Even the Red Cross no longer opens hurricane shelters in the city, claiming the risk to its workers is too great.

"The killer for Louisiana is a Category Three storm at 72 hours before landfall that becomes a Category Four at 48 hours and a Category Five at 24 hours—coming from the worst direction," says Joe Suhayda, a retired coastal engineer at Louisiana State University who has spent 30 years studying the coast. Suhayda is sitting in a lakefront restaurant on an actual August afternoon sipping lemonade and talking about the chinks in the city's hurricane armor. "I don't think people realize how precarious we are,"
Suhayda says, watching sailboats glide by. "Our technology is great when it works. But when it fails, it's going to make things much worse."

The chances of such a storm hitting New Orleans in any given year are slight, but the danger is growing. Climatologists predict that powerful storms may occur more frequently this century, while rising sea level from global warming is putting low-lying coasts at greater risk. "It's not if it will happen," says University of New Orleans geologist Shea Penland. "It's when."

http://www3.nationalgeographic.com/ngm/0410/feature5/

transientdyke @ 2005-07-29T08:17:00

2005-07-29T12:17:30Z

Well, it's official: I'm (finally) a homeowner.

transientdyke @ 2005-05-11T09:19:00

2005-05-11T13:24:53Z

It's hard to come off a long haitus of not writing much because I feel like everything will have to be summary and not substance.

.Marisa and I have been broken up for almost 5 months.
.She's been dating someone else for almost 4.
.It's very serious.

.I decided to invest my money and put in an offer on the house I'm currently living in.
.I was able to receive a mortgage at 5% which means the rent from the other two apartments will fully cover all mortgage and tax and insurance costs.
.The closing date is suppsed to be May 31st, if we can negoiate about the roof, which will cost $14,500 to replace.

.Work has been going well and I'm getting very close with a few people there.
.Abbey and I are best friends, and we actually act like it.
.I spent last week down in New Orleans with a bunch of my friends, and Marisa. It was the first time we hung out for more than 2 hours since we broke up.

I discovered that I have huge issues with intimacy and being physical now. Much more so than ever before in my life.

Once I resolve / accept this whole Marisa thing, I think my life will be at a very good point. That, unfortunately, is going to take quite awhile.

What I did, and did not, do on 4/20

2005-04-22T17:26:25Z

I did not smoke pot.

I did buy a house. I also partially cut off the tip of my finger while cutting a loaf of bread.

But more importantly, I bought a house.

transientdyke @ 2005-04-05T11:26:00

2005-04-05T15:27:59Z

So let's say, hypothetically, that you were going to meet with a real estate agent tomorrow to discuss possibly buying the house you're currently renting in.

What hypothetical questions would you be sure to ask this real estate agent?

(And for the hypothetical record, I'm aware much more research needs to be done - this is the very first step, and I was hoping some people with experience could give me some hypothetical help)

Oh wait, it gets better:

2005-02-16T17:03:25Z

And THEN someone breaks into my car last night and steals all my crap. Including all of my favorite CDs which I was listening to yesterday because I was upset. Motherfuckers.

transientdyke @ 2005-02-14T23:56:00

2005-02-15T04:56:09Z

So fuck her. She's "casually dating someone." Happy goddamn Valentine's Day.

transientdyke @ 2005-02-07T23:46:00

2005-02-08T04:46:41Z

Sometimes I wonder if I should move to Boston.

transientdyke @ 2005-01-28T20:37:00

2005-01-29T01:39:50Z

I can’t remember the last time I received something exciting in the mail - I suppose my Entertainment Weekly that I get each Friday kind of counts, but I’m paying for that so it’s not exactly unexpected. And that’s not to assume that you’ll see this letter as “exciting,” but the feeling of opening up your mailbox and finding an actual personal correspondence has always been a nice thing, regardless of what’s inside it.

And not that there’s anything bad inside this, per se - I suppose it’s how you look at it. Am I rambling yet? And I’ve only just begun.

I’ve been thinking a lot these past few weeks about what happened, what’s going to happen now, and how to get there. I’ve really wanted to talk to you - every day - but part of me knows I can’t yet. Calling you is just awkward, if I leave a voice message then I’m wondering constantly when it’ll be returned. Emails are better, but there’s still that immediacy involved, the fact that you can click send and write back within seconds. So I settled on the good old-fashion United States Postal Service. Sure, I could drop this off at your door and save 37 cents, but the call of the post mark seemed too strong to deny. And this way, I’m not waiting on pins and needles for a response; instead, I can either pretend the post office lost it, or that it’s still in transit, or that you just don’t have the money for a stamp - the uncertainty that coincides with our mail system can sometimes be a useful relaxant.

There’s not really going to be anything groundbreaking in this letter; I’ll probably ramble on for awhile about what’s been going on in my life, touch on a few of the things I’ve been working on in therapy, wonder repeatedly how you’re doing and reinforce how much I care about you. I can’t say these things to you in person - we’re not there yet, and I feel silly telling you about what’s going on in my life at Borders - and even writing an email has too much of a personal feel that I should only be concentrating on what’s happening with us, and not simply with me. But this way I feel free to tell you about my life and if you want to skip over it, that’s fine. I miss having someone to talk to about this stuff, the inconsequential day-to-day issues that build up your life but aren’t quite important to share with the random friend.

Writing feels good. It feels great, to be honest. I like choosing words and phrases that seem eloquent or poignant or just plain silly. I can’t do this in a private journal, for some reason. I think it’s the need for an audience - some type of appreciation, however imagined. I suppose that’s my weakness as a writer - we shouldn’t write for an audience, but instead for ourselves. Maybe someday I’ll get to that point, but until then, here I am.

Seeing you on Sunday night was good. Good, and hard, and awkward, of course - but good nonetheless. Necessary, I suppose. It’s strange that we can’t really make eye contact yet; that used to be one of my favorite things about you. We’d have these great eye contact moments, and I thought I could read into you when you looked at me like that. I was marveling yesterday how important eyes are; Stella was trying to get my attention while I was in the bathroom and she’d do anything she could to catch my eye. What is it about eyes that people and animals recognize as being so essential to communication? It’s this unspoken point of reference that we all seem to understand, even if we misinterpret it. I think our problem is that we place too much importance on the stare, the glance - it creates a connection between two people, but once that initial connection is made we pretend that we can see deep into the other person’s soul, like we can read their mind, but all we’re really doing is just fooling ourselves. It’s actually rather dangerous. Assumptions are made, and these can be innocent or they can be deadly. Eye contact is important, but words are usually much more direct in their ability to communicate.

I had therapy yesterday. It was good. Actually, it was amazing. I’m really trying this time; I think, after I got through that first bout of depression last January, that I stopped trying and just let the Zoloft work by itself. For awhile, that was ok, but I forgot that therapy takes effort every session, and I gave that up. Usually I despise New Year’s Resolutions because I feel like we should be able to make decisions any time of the year and not just on January first, but this year I gave in and made the resolution to try in therapy. To really use it, to get everything I can out of it. And you’re absolutely right about the honesty part - I don’t pull any punches anymore, I have nothing to lose except $16 every week, so I might as well delve as deeply as I can and let the honesty flow.

I understand what you’re doing. I understand what you did. It was the right choice. I have a hard time admitting that to myself, because by saying that you did the right thing, it makes me feel like I was doing the wrong thing. Another one of those issues I need to work on in therapy. But in that first session after we broke up, Jeanne said something that really stuck. She said you and I had our eye on a different ball when it came to the relationship; it wasn’t that our ideas and goals were conflicting, exactly, just that we were in completely separate realms. I saw my personal growth in therapy as a way to overcome the obstacles in our relationship. You saw the relationship (not “our” relationship, but that formal connection) as an obstacle to your personal growth. I don’t know if that’s true or not - I can’t read your mind - but that sounds right. It feels right.

When I was in high school, my desk in my bedroom was right next to the window so I could look outside at the street and watch cars go by. During the late spring, when I still had homework to do but the weather was warming up, I’d leave my window open and spend most of my evenings just staring outside, recognizing cars as they passed, wondering who that random boy with the backpack walking down the street was, seeing my neighbors’ cat roll around in their driveway. And I remember the smell of the air. Very, very clearly. It’s one of my favorite things about going home to Poughkeepsie, because I can still smell it faintly if I’m home during the springtime. I, of course, never connected it at the time, but that smell reminded me of being happy and being relaxed. It was before I had any worries about relationships (because I hadn’t come to any realizations about my sexuality yet) and I had good friends and I was doing well in school. So I would sit there at my desk and I would stare out the window and I would smell.

Once I got to college and started dealing with all the real life things that we create, I forgot how to smell the air. My depression started to set in, and while it was obvious that my appetite was gone, that my sleep patterns were fucked up, and that my emotions were a wreck, I didn’t notice that my sense of smell had disappeared too. Because when do we really rely on our nose to make us feel better? But I stopped doing my homework near an open window; I knew that I should get outside and sit under a tree and read my astronomy book, but I didn’t know why. And when I forced myself to do it, I couldn’t understand what I felt I was lacking. I think I started to identify it near the end of college, but I couldn’t figure out how to get it back; it was one of those things that I assumed was just gone from life, like growing out of playing with Legos or not enjoying coloring books as much as you used to. I mourned it a bit, but I let it go.

Once I started taking the Zoloft, I noticed that I could take deep breaths again. I could really fill my lungs and exhale it and remind my body what it’s like to feed on the air around you. But the smells didn’t come back, and I barely even remembered them. It wasn’t until about 3 weeks ago, when I woke up early one morning in that sleepy haze where you don’t really know where or even who you are, that I smelled it. I sleep with my window open even in the winter, and I could smell the air. I mean really, really smell it. And all of a sudden, the weight that had been sitting on my chest for the past 8 years just left. Perhaps I should say it melted, because I could still feel the residue left over, but the heaviness of it vanished with my exhalation.

This is the first time in my entire life that I’m single by choice. I sat here trying to figure out the correct way to word that, and I think it’s important that I say it that way. The reason I’m not in a relationship anymore wasn’t my decision, but the frame of mind I’m in right now is. I don’t feel like I’m in between relationships, I don’t feel like I have to constantly search around for my next target or the next person to boost my self-esteem. I feel like I’m single, and independent, and ok. All of the restraints and expectations and responsibilities I’ve created for myself over the past decade are gone, banished while I struggle (and indeed it’s a struggle) to understand who I am.

It’s hard to explain this sense of freedom that I have right now, although I imagine you’ll understand it well. I feel released and happy (and I can smell!) for the first time in so long, and all of these emotions are positive and invigorating. But at the same time, I’m sad, and I’m hurt, and I cry. It’s this confusing combination of grieving and anticipation - and I can’t even explain it as a manic depression, because these feelings happen simultaneously and not opposite each other. The strange thing is that they don’t cancel each other out, although they’re of equal strength. If anything, they complement each other. The sadness reminds me of why I feel good, and the pain reminds me of how I got here.

I miss you terribly. I know I say that a lot, but it’s more true than you understand. It’s not just that we’ve built up this life in the past year and a half, a series of habits and rituals that would define our daily interactions, but it’s you, as a person, as an individual, that I really miss. These are two distinct parts, I think: Our relationship was the physical bond of creating traditions, sharing them with someone, a way of keeping time. The other part is much more deep and abstract, a timeless connection you share with a person, an understanding that you come to have. That’s what I miss, and that’s what I hope to get back someday with you.

Marisa, you’re a beautiful, caring, and brilliant woman. That’s why it worked out so well for so long. Not because we both wanted a cabin in the woods or because we both strongly believe in feminism and neither of us really likes cilantro. Those things all help to create the traditions and rituals, but it’s you as a person, in the most fundamental and complicated of ways, that makes what we share so important to me. And what makes me miss you so damn much. That’s why I’m sad now, and I think the pain is temporary, a reaction to the loss of that person I love so deeply. Because that connection is still there, all of the reasons I love you are still there, and I don’t think those have been severed. They need to shift a bit, the focus needs to change, but the base of it - the reason for it - has never altered.

Jeanne described relationships to me as a three-legged stool: if one of those legs are missing, then the whole thing falls down. There’s the “administrative” leg - the one that makes sure our lives are compatible in the business-like sense. The one that makes sure our goals are similar, our morals congruent, our beliefs comparable, and even our financial practices acceptable. Then there’s the leg that reflects “us” as a unit, and how we interact with others in our lives as a couple, whether it be friends or family or children. And finally there’s our broken leg, the one we’ve always seemed to balance on in past relationships: the passion and intimacy. I have a feeling that both you and I usually brace ourselves on this one leg in our past relationships; we know how to make the other person happy, we use our sexual energy and our attractive looks to lure them in, and then we lose interest in those other two legs - we realize that we don’t want to set goals like them or we don’t like how they spend their money - and the passion disappears and they’re left on a legless stool and we’re moving on to the next person.

I’ve never really found - and identified so strong with - those other two legs with anyone else before. We might share interests or believe in the same things, but that deep rooted connection just wasn’t there. That trust. So when I found them with you, and we seemed to work so well, it was easy to push that passion and intimacy leg off to the side because, in the past, I could always rely on it. Unfortunately, this time I couldn’t.

I’m not sure if it’s simply because of who we are; maybe we don’t share that passion and chemistry with each other. I’m certainly still attracted to you - when I look at that picture I have of you smiling on the dock with me and Andrew and Sawyer, my heart does a little flip and I think about how pretty you are and how beautiful your smile is. When I think about sex with you, I still get little tingles in my abdomen. But I realize that there was something that wasn’t quite there, even given all of these things. I can’t figure out - and I’ll probably never know - if it was something that we couldn’t change or if it was because of where we are in our lives. A little bit of both, I think. It’s never as clear cut as we want it to be. Regardless, that third leg wasn’t there, and instead of toppling off of our stool, you chose to step down. I think that’s probably a better decision than crashing head-first later on. I wish I could have been as brave as you.

transientdyke @ 2004-12-27T23:40:00

2004-12-28T04:43:38Z

I know it's been awhile since I posted. I don't know if I'll start posting more or if this is it, I need to talk to someone right now and you're it.

Marisa and I just broke up. Well, she broke up with me. It came out of no where, I wasn't expecting it at all. But it's done, and it probably be an understatement to say that I'm utterly destroyed.

It's funny, I honestly thought that we were going to be together forever. I mean, I really thought she was it. How could I have been so completely wrong? There goes a trust I probably won't get back for awhile.

If you respond, chances are I won't write back. Not because I didn't read it or because I didn't appreciate it. Because I don't know what to say anymore

transientdyke @ 2004-10-17T10:27:00

2004-10-17T14:28:20Z

Check out http://mediamatters.org/items/200410160003 if you haven't already. Watch the Jon Stewart clip. It's excellent.

transientdyke @ 2004-08-29T22:16:00

2004-08-30T02:25:55Z

I had a dream about you last night. And now I can't get the taste of you out of my mouth.

You rang my doorbell, out of the blue, and stood there next to Scott. You both looked awkward, although for different reasons. I couldn't understand what you were possibly doing in my doorway, but I didn't question it either. It was a mixture of fear and relief.

I invited you in, but tried as hard as I could to avoid eye contact. I saw you brush Scott's hand in the way people display affection, however subtle, and I understood you were together. I also understood that you weren't flaunting it in front of me; it was for his benefit, not mine.

You told me that you didn't know why you were stopping by, but it seemed like you had to. I explained how I've spent the last eight years avoiding you, not going to places you might be, crossing the street when I see you coming. Which is funny, considering you're in California and I'm in New York, but in my dream-head, the avoidance has been completely intentional.

And then you told me the one thing I've been waiting to hear for eight years, which seems so minimal to speak out loud, but meant so much at the time. You've been avoiding me too - purposely staying on the other side of the street when I'm walking, casting your eyes down to ensure ours don't meet. I didn't take your comment as an insult, but instead I celebrated it. It meant recognition, that you still thought about me. That there were still feelings involved, regardless of how we display them. That's all I've ever wanted from you, all I've wanted still in my waking life: aknowledgement. Of us, of our relationship, of my feelings.

When I woke up, I was sad. It was that heartbreak feeling all over again, only the kind that you can cause. It's amazing how it can lay dormant for so long, only to be awoken by a dream where I live in a house I've never seen, on a street I've never walked down, behind trees I've never smelled. Regardless of how imaginary the scenery might have been, that feeling has stayed with me all day today, and that's real. It reminds me of you, and how badly I need to know if you will ever remember me. And it reminds me how I'll never know.

transientdyke @ 2004-05-17T01:05:00

2004-05-17T05:05:36Z

I shaved my head.

transientdyke @ 2004-03-03T12:59:00

2004-03-03T18:02:34Z

So it looks like it'll be Kerry vs Bush. Right now, I have absolutely no idea who will come out on top; all I know is that I want anyone but Bush in the White House come January.

This morning I donated $25 to Kerry's campaign. I've never donated to a presidential race before, but I feel like this one is worth it. If you believe in Kerry, then please consider donating some money to his campaign to beat Bush:

https://contribute3.johnkerry.com/contribute.html?team=338

Even $5 will help if we get enough people. Pass it along.

transientdyke @ 2004-02-11T14:16:00

2004-02-11T19:18:40Z

Rumor has it that Bush is going to kick off his presidential campaign by saying that he'll fully support a Constitutional Amendment to ban gay marriage.

Call him. 202-456-1111. Tell him you don't think that the Constitution should be used to discriminate against a group. It'll cost you about 20 cents and take 3 minutes, but the more people call the stronger the message.

Two good things about today.

2003-10-31T21:47:57Z

I found out that, instead of the expected 50 cent raise, I'm actually getting $1.50. Not too bad.

We got our copies of Stephen King's Dark Tower V book in, that's going to be released Tuesday, and I started reading it. He recently re-released his first book in that series with some additions, and I read it in preparation for Wolves of Calla... if you're a fan and haven't reread the first one, I'd suggest going back because it seems he's added something in DT 1 that plays a large role in DT 5.

transientdyke @ 2002-12-13T14:32:00

2002-12-13T19:32:36Z

I cut all of my hair off.

A welcomed addition.

2002-10-14T21:37:03Z

I just got a kitten!!

She's all black with a little white patch on her neck and chest. Very very cute.

I just need to figure out a name...

transientdyke @ 2002-08-20T07:01:00

2002-08-20T11:03:23Z

Why is everyone outraged that Al Queda is running tests on live animals? We do this every day in the US. Is this because we're actually seeing pictures of the dogs they're killing?

I suppose half of the answer is that Americans don't care about the animals' lives but are, of course, worried about the implications of a chemical attack. But still, I've heard quite a few people outraged at the use of dogs as test subjects. I wonder what kind of billboards PETA will get out of this.

Edit: I was just watching CNN Headline news (my bad habit) when one of the headlines mentioned that a government official is recommending alternatives to certain types of US animal testing. Compassion for the animals? Or do we not want to allign ourselves with terrorist practices?

transientdyke @ 2002-07-15T09:57:00

2002-07-15T13:49:38Z

For a variety of reasons, I'm going to start making my posts friends only. I think I'll still leave my political rants open to the public for comment, but anything that even remotely pertains to my personal life are going to be available only for those I know to read.

So if you've been reading this for awhile but I don't have you listed as a friend, let me know.

transientdyke @ 2002-07-10T18:16:00

2002-07-10T22:16:49Z

EDIE CAREY IS PLAYING IN ROCHESTER TONIGHT!

Yes, I will meet her. I will not do the same thing I did with Erin McKeown, I refuse.

I cannot wait. I couldn't sleep last night because I was so nervous.

Heh.

2002-07-08T21:25:37Z

For anyone interested in the Dark Tower series by Stephen King.

transientdyke @ 2002-07-06T11:27:00

2002-07-06T15:29:38Z

My dad called this morning as I was getting ready for work and told me that Tiger, a cat we got when I was in 5th grade, has "gone," as he put it.

Tiger was always incredibly over weight and had a lot of health problems because of it. I guess in the past few months he's lost a lot of it and started changing his personality (he's always been really nice and cuddly) and has started becoming more aggresive, particularly with other animals in the neighborhood. He left the house a few days ago and hasn't come back since. My dad and brother went looking for him and all they've found so far is some tufts of his hair. He was 12, although I haven't lived at home with him for the past 4 years.

Now I have to go to work and my eyes are all red. They have a section in the kids department about how to talk to little children when a pet passes away; I think I'll read that today.

I think I might be starting to understand.

2002-07-05T14:50:56Z

She woke up this morning 45 minutes before her alarm was scheduled to go off; 6 am is an early time by any standards. But we had been out drinking last night to celebrate the 4th (no, that's a lie - we didn't really care about this country's independence, we wanted to get together with our friends whom we rarely see and drink and talk).

She had drank more than most, and I wondered if she'd be able to make it to work this morning. But when I rolled over and asked why she was getting out of bed so early, she just kissed me on the forehead and told me she had to write.

An hour and a half later, as she was leaving for work, I woke again and asked if she was ok. She said yes, that writing had helped and she would see me at 3. She also told me I could read what she had written because it was sitting on the living room table.

Her bedroom is flooded with old journals, filled page to page with black cursive ink. I don't know what the ink describes or what feelings are permenantly imbedded on those pages because I've never looked; not when she's at work, not when she's on vacation. I've wanted to, practically every day, but I haven't. It's not my place, and I know how important a private safe area is. She's explained this to me before.

But lately she's been letting me read. She'll leave a journal on the kitchen table, with a little note telling me I can read it if I want. The journals are all different sizes; some are square pieces of 2 inch paper, others are your standard legal size. Mostly spiral bound, a few tied with yarn.

I was very nervous the first time I read something; not necessarily because of what was going to be said, but because I recognized that I was invading a space - however invited - that's not mine. I've known how important writing is to her since the first day we met (she wants her own office when we get a house together, a personal room with a lock on the door, a desk by the window, shelves of journals waiting to be written in and those already used). I've known about her desire - her need - to write, and I've seen how that's flucuated over the past 6 months. She's making more time now; waking up earlier and forgoing the TV remote for a pen.

But her writing has always been separate from me; although she may write about me or her fears about me, she's not writing to me. She writes poetically, disguising her verse in paragraphs with no break. A way I admire but could never imitate. And I like being an object of attention when she writes, but not the center. To read about you, and not something to you, is much more meaningful. For some reason it's easier to get all of the thoughts out when you don't need to address the person directly.

When I first met Julie, our only medium for conversation was AOL Instant Messneger. As sad as that sounds, it's the one thing that really caused our initial relationship to flourish. We'd spend hours online every night, discussing inane little qualities or mentioning our deepest fears. Kyle and I began in an English class, when she showed me the paper I had inspired and then shared a poem with me. But although Leslie and I work in a book store (and although we were both English majors), we've never really used writing as a way of communicating. And I think that's what I've been missing.

After I read her entry today, one that talked about how scared she would be if one day soon (or not so soon) I decided that she was no longer the sexiest woman in the room, I felt infinitely closer to who she really is. I didn't recognize it before, but I've been lacking this closeness that only comes through disclosures on paper and through text. That sense of a person you get from reading their journal, since you know you'd never understand these things without it. Since the beginning, I've felt something missing in our relationship, some closeness that hadn't been achieved yet even though we had found everything else. We can talk about our feelings and our fears, but we don't articulate them correctly. Some things you can't say face to face, even the most amazing compliments.

I told the other day that I thought I only really knew 8% of her, even though it felt like I knew all 100%. It's a paradox almost; every day I realize that I know less and less about her, even though we spend more and more time together. The confidence I felt at the beginning is whitiling away, but that wasn't confidence in our relationship - it was confidence in my knowing everything about her. It is indeed a slightly humbling experience, but a necessary and beautiful one. I'm learning more about myself through this than her, I sometimes think.

We don't write to each other enough. We need to start doing that more often, because that's the initmacy that I miss. I can only fully disclose myself when I'm writing, because my mouth evades the question almost every time. Writing actually forces me to thinb about things and why I'm saying them, without being allowed to say bullshit excuses when pressed for an answer.

I'm not sure I know how to end a journal entry like this one.

Wow, an actual separation of church and state.

2002-06-26T22:33:52Z

Fascinating.