First song off Yann Thiersen's soundtrack to Amelie:
"I have not yet been there", loose translation.
Last night, D. and I left the house after days and days of cuddling, sex and eating. It was the end of our long holiday together (patches of three days at a time over the holidays, interspersed with work and occasional outings) and we were reluctant to go out, but the weather was beautiful and our heads ached from *too much* sleep(!), so it was time to go out. We ventured to the large sprawling tree at Tenney Lapham park, and crawled under and over and around it until we were out at the tip of the mini-peninsula, our view packed with a contrail-streaked sunset. It was glorious; cold (but we knew we were going home to warm curry), clear, very good new day of a new year.
Usually I hate New Year's Eve. I am not totally sure why this is. Nothing traumatic happened on it, that I know of. I'm not a party hater, persay, though the older I get the less they appeal to me. All I can think of is that I used to spend New Year's Eve day perusing old journals and trying to get a reckoning on the year, which quite often was not a pleasant exercise. But in the last couple of years, as I have not gone out to big parties or made much of a fuss over new years, it's gotten better. This year's was the best yet.
We went over to a friends' house with Erika and Aaron, after a long day of being in bed, reading, hanging out, being close. There, hot tub and steaks, small conversations about big things (including music and tinned meat) intertwined with big conversations about small things (yiddish words and poetry). Midnight was barely noticeable, all of us turned into happy mush from the hot tub, and we decided that the "Year of No Consequences" (last year) should become the "Year of Good Decisions". On New Year's Day, D. noticed that we were overusing it already - that we were back attributing "good decision" to nearly everything anyone decided, including things that definitely don't normally resemble good decisions. But assigning the idea that we can make good decisions from moment one, even if sometimes only seeable in retrospect, does seem a good idea, still. So we're sticking to it.
Standing in the sunset, reflected around us in all that water which may yet freeze this winter, I asked D. about how all former relationships have ended. "There's not really a pattern" was the answer. And the question came back to me, of course, and I said "Well, there's a pattern alright, but it simply isn't here." I looked out over the constant new moments that sunsets remind me exist all the time, and realized we are in a totally new world, with all kinds of amazing joy, and all kinds of new ways to fuck up, too. We had our first quibbles these last weeks, spending so much time together, beginning to miscommunicate, and some more serious renditions of conversations about the big issues each of us have been dealing with. But all is calm, all is bright, actually.
We also set up a schedule, workable for both of us, to build in regular breaks from one another. In the holiday/semi-vacation era of the last weeks, it's gotten so nice, so easy to be together, neither of us remember to take off, and it never feels like too much. But too much of a good thing can still be too much...as the saying goes, and so we will take off a couple nights a week, so I can work on my novel and decompress after teaching, and so D. can make music.
It's so domestic, so simple, but all of this stability has made writing easier. I can't help both a feeling of relief, along with gratitude and love. It's so simple, but all I have to say for now. I've never been here before, and I am loving being here all the time.