People keep asking if I’m ok.

03Jul08

And I want to answer them, but I’m not really sure how.

For one thing, it can vary so much minute to minute. And any of those given moments don’t represent the whole.  What can I say, really?  “It appears that it’s going to take me the normal amount of time to die.”  Seems that most people want more of an answer than that, but I don’t really know more than that.

Because all I know is that I pretty much think about three things.  Most of the day I think about that day in Chicago when I wandered around all over town with that song “Coffee Shop” by Landon Pigg stuck in my head, humming it to keep my lips warm and laughing a little to myself that I’d have a song about first falling for someone in my head, at a time when our love was already so very big and unwieldy.

And at night I think about that night in Houston, that first time you slid into bed and spooned up against me from behind, and let out a long breath in my ear “ohmygod,” that summed up my thoughts perfectly, because nothing in the world had ever felt as wonderful as that.  That was the first of a series of the best moments of my life.

And when I’m trying to stop crying, I think of something that hasn’t happened yet.  A knock at the door, the phone ringing, to tell me the nightmare is over, so that I can finally admit how scared I was.

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