Between the overtime and the venture meetings with Aaron, the restless nights and the early mornings, I try to catch my breath. It’s good to be busy, but not when it means I don’t have the time or energy to write. This is the probably the most infrequent publishing period I’ve ever been through since the start of this blog. Thoughts develop in my head, but I’m not ready to get them down and hit publish yet. Maybe it’s a comfort thing, maybe it’s a front, maybe I’ve simply lost the desire to document every single detail of my life.

Through all of this I feel myself regaining some stability, although I tread lightly, remaining both conscious and cautious. This is the most I can say for now.

It was five days of relaxation, with someone I could spill my guts to. The only person who knows everything about me, every embarrassing experience I’ve had, every dark secret in the back of my mind. I could try, but I doubt that I would ever be able to explain my relationship with John. Let the indescribable remain so.

Most of the time was spent in conversation. In the car we would cruise. On the couches we laid ourselves out, both as shrink and patient. We revisited my old stomping grounds, the university campus with its dull, right-angle architecture. There was a bit of serendipity during his stay, the kind of happenstance that makes one question their sense of faith, fate, or lack thereof. After a series of random and correct turns, it was a sudden, rather terrifying, confrontation of months of meditation on the second introduction. Something I’ve been discussing with John ever since I started writing about it, something I wasn’t ready for at all, and something we happened to catch on camera.

…A week I’ve taken off as part of my available vacation days. There’s something satisfying about being paid to have fun. We haven’t seen each other in over half a year, so the five days will be calculated and precise, squeezing in the things that we’ve been meaning to do together in every available second.

On his way over, John was also able to pick up a small care package from my parents, complete with new dress shirts, loose leaf tea, homemade banana bread, ginseng (LOTS of ginseng that I can now add to chicken soup), and an assortment of books that I’ve been meaning to bring.

Even before the wedding began, I had already unfairly decided that I wasn’t going to have a good time. Thank god I was wrong. My initial feeling was based on the knowledge that certain agitating people were going to be there — a very tangible reminder of why we moved under cover of darkness for the last Bancroft farm excursion — but there were enough normal people to dilute any creepiness.

The ceremony was short and sweet. The food was the best I’ve had in weeks, although my gradual recovery from viral gastroenteritis meant that I could only have half of the portions served. The company at the dinner table was friendly and open enough to address everyone sitting (Tolstoy wrote well about such a difficulty in Anna Karenina when he describes “a small table with persons present, like the steward and the architect, belonging to a completely different world, struggling not to be overawed by an elegance to which they were unaccustomed, and unable to sustain a large share in the general conversation”). Aside from an idiotic analogy about asparagus, the speeches were generally well-written; not too trite, and all the more poignant from the emotion with which they were spoken.

Aaron was there as my wingman, ensuring a good time. Jenn was there as my date, making the guys jealous. I even saw Christine, although we never had a chance to talk. Apparently, I missed every time she waved at us, so she may have thought that I was ignoring or avoiding her, which may be why she flicked my ear as she was walking by my table. I still feel bad enough about missing her last birthday party.

Until dinner there was an open bar, with Corona and even Guinness on tap, as well as a strawberry margarita machine that could make them like smoothies. After dinner was the dancing, and by the time the we were through a dozen or so songs, it was already late, so we headed home.

It stopped raining, and the grey sky has turned black with the night. The refreshing smell of wet pavement and grass drifts lazily through my window, while droplets collect and fall from the overhangs of every house, a different sound with each varying height and texture. Cars drive by, and I imagine the spray from their tires rising and falling in the light of the mild, golden street lamps.

In person, I’m generally very private about my life, but I find myself opening up to the strangest people lately.

The most unexpected ones seem to care.