Realize.

A warm Florida night, airport arrivals.

ALN picked me up in the Accord. Windows down, cigarette lit. We shared a #68 deli sandwich direct from A2, the one that almost made me miss my flight.

It was late, we caught up on six days worth of gossip. We stopped at Starbucks. I can't even remember the street names anymore. But this song reminds me of her and of being there.

Sometimes I wonder if what we did was wrong-- but she shouldn't have been stuck there either.

Every so often I have fond memories of being in that sheltered life, of having that group who fully understood everything, and sometimes I realize that there are some small things that I miss-- like listening to this song at 11pm on our way home from the airport.

Sun deck.

10:34pm my phone rings. Picking up my phone, "unavailable". It's AVH. Why is he calling me again? Earlier this evening we spoke for nearly a half hour.

LG: Hello?
AVH: Babe. (lots of background noise)
LG: Hey, what's up? Where are you?
AVH: I'm on the sun deck.

The sun deck. Ah yes, the sun deck. Memories of an October evening, after three days of not eating, shaking, crying-- the infamous night he broke up with me to my face. But this time it's different. This time, in a week's time, I will be there. For good. I'm ready.

...but am I really ready? For the first time I'm starting to feel some doubt. I'm leaving Rowan after nearly a year of being engrossed in horses-- after 5 months of just horses I'm about to go cold turkey. Poof. Like that. I'm wondering if I'll regret this, leaving my Rowan, leaving after developing such a good seat, such good horsemanship skills. It's a shame really, "you could go all the way if you wanted" (sometimes I wish I had that drive).

But it's not really any of that. Maybe it's that I don't know what I would do if I didn't join the Ob. I seem to be in the mentality that this was my only option, even though it wasn't-- I could have gone to Europe, trained will Ulla or California to train with Jan. I could have done many things. So the more I talk about it and the more I think about it maybe it really does come down to females making these sacrifices. (that's what Dmar says) And how is it that we can be OK with them?

But, the hardest thing about all of this is leaving Rowan. He has been my life for the past 6 months, how can I just leave him? I worry that I will lose sight of my passion after being away from it for so long, will I lose interest in Rowan? Will I decide that being tied down (by a horse) is just something I don't want burdening me? Will I just forget about how much he has meant to me for the past year and a half? These thoughts frighten me.

But AVH. I'm not worried about that. I'm ready for that part.

Unwell.

I'm wondering why it is that while I was at the Poo's I didn't get sick, not even once. But since I've left, gone only a month and a half, I've been sick twice. I suppose I can contribute both sicknesses to severe lack of sleep-- but still!

My days have been relaxed and uneventful-- perhaps even a little obnoxiously so. Sometimes the weather in the Mitten is absolutely dreadful and we just happen to be in the midst of the gloomy in-between days of grey, dirty, melting snow. These conditions aren't quite conducive to productive behavior. It's ok though, I need to spend the next few days getting myself healthy again before I'm off to the Sunshine state again.

Roni pony has been doing well. I have suspicions that his back is bothering him but it might simply be because I've been working him more uphill than just long-and-low. I gave him today off, we'll see how he is tomorrow.

Otherwise, I find a lot of random, small things that need to get done. Maybe one of them will be finding an institution to further my education...

de.tri.tus.

It's easier to ignore it, to pretend that in the gray area the patches of black are merely memory gaps. I never asked the questions because reading it makes it fictional. All just characters in the novel. I shrug it off with a half smile but when I'm alone and I think of our time together I think about her, whomever she may be, and how she has somehow shoved herself indirectly into my life.

I shouldn't care, but I do. I don't know what questions I want to ask, I don't know what I want to know, or if I even want to know anything at all. I don't. I do. Tormenting either way. Will it always be in my head? Not talking never fixed anything.

I can block it out-- the images. But do you? No. I have so many. Enough for you. Those were different feelings then. Different times. Emotions. I didn't know any better. Desperation, need, habit. Drunkenness, induced-- sleep deprivation.

But you'll never know. Riding the bike, clinging to K, tears soaking my face. A horrible way to die. To live out the last seconds empty, already crying. Don't do anything stupid. Please. Thinking about it now, watching the film, tears in my eyes. Don't wish on anyone. Bruised and broken.

I would have climbed in his bed, naked. 100% certain. No questions asked, silent understanding. I had said it, I would have been all yours; slipping between the cool sheets, this: it's for you-- unrequited in some strange way. Still foggy, even now-- the hours on the couch, a hazy morning through Atlanta. I would have.

"I don't know." How can you not know? You were there. I'm the one who doesn't know. Don't worry, I'm not over it, either. Why don't you tell me, everything. Everything. Why do I have to ask the questions?

Landromat

If it were a movie I would have been smoking a cigarette. But it wasn't and I sat there staring at the clock framed with black, second hand ticking. White walls, white machines, so much white-- to prove cleanliness?

I probably wouldn't have cried except I felt obligated to. Or maybe I was just caught in the moment. I had given him a blow job-- tears were necessary.

So, I thought, when do we work on resolving the stains of our past? When do we ask the questions to find out what really happened? (because I really do want to know.) And when does time finally bleach the mistakes?

Babe, I'm all yours.

Florida. Not so sure about that. When I'm not sure what to do I get quiet. That's one thing I learned in Florida, that I have an overwhelmingly unconscious desire to avoid conflict at all costs. It must be lingering childhood post-divorce trauma; yes, memories of a hole my Mother punched in the dining room wall one evening. I believe it was weeks before it was finally patched.

Georgia.

South Carolina. Tell me what you're thinking, it's not time to tell you yet. On the beach again, the cold is setting in.

North Carolina.

Tennessee. The mountains, not quite as brilliant as the West, but the first snow nonetheless. Snow. Not again. Discussing the future, where will I be? Where will you be? Where will we be? (yeah, I used the "we" word.)

Kentucky.

Ohio. I'm tired now. It's cold. Quiet times, good food, good company. Relishing a childhood visited too seldom. Discussions on religion, relationships, the world.

Michigan. Home. My bed, my closet, my clothes (wow, lots of those), my pony. I can finally walk barefoot. I can finally start to organize my life as it's written in ink.

And, like that, it's done. I'm burned out from the barn. I'm getting used to being alone again. I'm over being constantly cold.

"I don't trust you." I meant it when I said that. We discussed this. I have no platform to back this feeling, it's just coming from a wounded heart (as cliché as that sounds). Are you all mine? That's something I don't know. Am I all yours? That's something I'm going to find out.

But for now, it's good to be back.