|Well, now. What an incredible couple days it has been; I hate
missing a day on my journal, but it couldn't be helped. I have been
very busy talking to realtors and zoning officials and even an architect.
Something that was a breathless dream a couple days ago is taking shape
right here in my town, and it's incredible. I am learning more about
zoning and real estate that I really wanted to know, but it is fascinating,
and I am being hand-held through the whole process.
It's a strong, warm hand.
Time moves fast in cyberspace. I joke that a week here is worth about three months in meatspace. It's like a hothouse for human interaction; things can move fast. Way fast.
I have this tiny place in my brain that does not like to let me enjoy a thing, loves to niggle away at any joy that comes along, wants to erode my security and confidence and faith. It bases its arguments on things that are true, things that happened in the past, but it choosees these references carefully, for there are other examples which contradict it, and it seeks to hide the memories of these from me. With failure.
This tiny piece right here is saying that this guy isn't for real, nobody like that is for real. Nobody drops out of the sky adoring you and wanting to help you and is ready to put up or shut up. Nobody can really like you for who you are and what you think and how you say things about what you have learned. And certainly noone takes a woman under the age of thirty seriously.
This tiny piece also says that even if all this comes off smoothly, it isn't genuine affection you feel for this guy. You don't really love the way he says "Stop I love it" or the way he talks straight to ya or the secret grin in his pictures that says the photographer may catch his face but not what's inside, which is utterly private but ultimately sharable...with the right person. The piece says you don't just gobble up the sound of his voice even on answering macine, you don't long to hold him and feel his emotions seeping through his skin. It says all you feel is gratitude, and that you are deluding yourself if you think there is anything more to it.
Well, I hate that piece. It is the result of all the fear and insecurity saved up through my whole life, most of it from early teen and preteen years, and it really is there for a legitimate purpose; it doesn't want me to get hurt, and it doesn't want me to get hurt by surprise. So it tells me things I don't want to hear, things that usually turn out to not be true, all for the sake of bracing me against the possibility of failure.
And it has sometimes failed me, by being silent when there WAS something wrong.
It never warned me about Daniel.
So here I am tonight on the edge of the possible, a plan is coming together, and it spells freedom and hope, and yes gratitude. But related, and yet independent, is love.