caelan's snow day.

Ugh, she is growing up way too fast.  Now she's walking and running and playing in snow!  I can't believe it.  I miss her much, with her uber-cool neon Nike kicks.  :(

lightweight luggage.

Anyone have suggestions for lightweight carry-on luggage (approximately 20") that is 7 lbs or under?  The only one I've found thus far that I actually like is Tumi's Voyageur, which costs $495.  Pretty sure I don't want to spend that much. 

This Orla Kiely one is also adorable and slightly less exorbitant at $315, but it's not really classic enough for my taste.  Help!

perfect.

A while back, I wrote this:

he tells me i need to enjoy life more and in the small increments of time we get to share, it often feels as though he is silently hoping a little bit of his inner peace could bleed into me.  he wonders how we'd be in the daytime, when the opportunity to sleep and rest aren't paramount priorities, and when the cries of all the obligations and duties i take on tug and pull at me in all sorts of directions.  i laugh, and remind him to show, not tell, for telling me to be a certain way and encouraging me to change are two surefire methods to keep me completely stagnant. 

it's a good thing he knows how to listen.

going with the flow is a difficult task for me because i am a person who likes to control the flow.  but he asked, and complying was the least i could do given all of his efforts.  and, now, i can't even really begin to describe how grateful i am that he pushed, and that i dropped my defenses for a brief moment.  because had i not, i wouldn't have enjoyed such a perfect evening.

perfect.  perfect's not a word that gets tossed around easily.  but, perfect is the only word that even comes close to describing the perfect weather, with the perfect sounds of the booming ocean waves, the perfect little palm trees in the distance that resembled oversized mushrooms planted in the the perfect sand, and the perfect night sky decorated with undulating streaks of perfect pale pink.  and, when Mandalay came on the stereo, i knew that he had also planned the perfect playlist.  we took perfect bundled-up mini cat naps, and, it was even more perfect that we finished the night with his less-than-perfect response to being flashed in the face by an officer's bright flash light.  :) 

oh, the memories.  oh, this memory.  i love knowing that perfection is perfectly possible.

Today, I was restless and read through some old emails of ours and stumbled across this line from the mister:  "i just recalled, you did snore on perfect night. how imperfectly inappropriate for such a perfect night with perfect palm trees planted in the perfect sand... okay i'll stop."

He makes me laugh.  He still takes me to beach late at night and together we marvel at the booming sound of the waves and talk about all of the intangible, befuddling, aspects of this existence.  Every day he teaches me how to be a better person, one who loves life a little bit more, one who becomes increasingly grateful for everything she has, and one who is not saddened by everything she has not yet experienced.  And during the moments where I notice our imperfections, I remind myself that imperfections are the norm, but achieving perfection -- now that's something that's rare and precious.  Just like us.

the beast at night.

He's violent in bed.  No, I don't mean sexually -- I mean that at night, while he sleeps, he transforms into a different man, one who is self-serving, demanding, unintentionally violent in a way.  It's hard for me to describe.  But I dislike it very much.

Lately I have been haranguing him about the way he sleeps.  I come home exhausted, wanting to crawl into his arms, but he constantly rebuffs me -- turning his back, moving to the other side of the bed, all of which frustrates me to no end.  My expectations for nighttime sleeping are high; I suppose that this is an after-effect of a marvelous vacation, one where every night for over two weeks we slept inches apart.  I have grown accustomed to falling asleep safely cocooned in his arms.  Perhaps when he was away from home, he needed a piece of home (me) to help ease him into slumber, but now that we are back in the comforts of our own bed, I'm no longer needed.  :(

Whomp, whomp, whomp.

I'm not so much insulted as I am confused.  During the daytime, he is exceptionally loving, exceedingly affectionate, and there is no doubt in my mind that I am wanted, cared for, loved.  But as he sleeps, the beast in him awakens, and I am met with rough shoves, rude protestations, and an unrecognizable coldness.  I wonder how these disparate beings could be one person, but mostly, I wonder how am I to adore this side of him, as well?  And the only plausible solution I have conjured is that I will simply have to try, and he will also try to be who I need, and somewhere down the line, at some point, our mutual efforts will intersect at a harmonious compromise.  

Healthy, happy, functional relationship.  I think I'm still dumbfounded that I'm in one. 

the top.

My phone rings and I see his number.  I answer only to hear his groggy voice on the line.  He called to ask if he could bring me anything, coffee, sugar, anything, because it's almost 2 am and I am still at work.  "Just go to bed," I say, "I don't need anything."  He hesitates.  "But I feel guilty sleeping while you're still working."  "You shouldn't," I reply before adding "and you should start getting used to this - this is my life."

I will admit that sometimes I indulge in the maxim of "misery loves company".   It's comforting at times to know that I am not alone in being miserable, that there's another being who might be able to commiserate with my solemn mood.  Yet, somehow, when it comes to late nights at the office, I never wish this on anyone.  I never find any solace in knowing that there are others like me, all of us sitting in our uncomfortable chairs, staring at our bright monitors.  In truth, I feel terribly sad for us all.  I wish I were the only one subject to this life. 

So I wonder why I do it.  What drives me.  What motivates me.  It's not the money -- that just provides stability, not the motivation to remain perpetually sleep-deprived.  As I ponder, I draw a blank.  And as I continue to draw a blank, I notice that with every passing second, my being unable to answer this seemingly basic question infuriates and incenses me.  This isn't a difficult question.  If I can't answer it, then why do I do it?  And then it dawns on me that I am bitter because I believe that the practice of law can be better, that I can do better, make it better.  I suppose that I am simply fighting for the chance to prove this to myself.

Since there's only one way to go from here - up - I'll see y'all at the top.  I'm not sure what I'll find when I get there, or what I might be sitting atop once I'm actually there, but I'll be damned if I don't at least get the opportunity to say that I've been there, done that.

there i am.

Something warm.  I remember something warm grazing my face, my cheek, I'm not sure where exactly because I was only coherent enough to notice the warmth pulsating from that general vicinity.  I also wasn't sure where I was physically at.  I hadn't been sure for a while because I had been on the move, seemingly jumping about from one city, state, or country to the next every day or so.  There was so much traveling involved that I gave up on trying to keep track of it all, preferring to let my mind orient itself based on what I saw, smelled, tasted, not based on what a geography book might tell me about my whereabouts.  I told myself that knowing didn't matter -- if the details were important, once back at home, I could always align the pins across a map after the fact to retrace the steps I took.  So I started to forget the typical indicators - roads and signs and guidelines - because hell, they were all written in a foreign language I didn't understand, which made them all the easier to ignore.  The typically structured and orderly me finally gave up the good fight and succumbed to just rolling with things. 

Seconds before I was in a heavy sleep.  That warm sensation startled me and started to wake me up, if one could describe a weak blink from only one eye lasting half a second a valid attempt at awaking.  But the feeling was jarring, very noticeable, because I was cold and everything around me felt cold.  It had been raining where where I was at and subconsciously, I'm sure I knew that I was still in the tropics, moving about underneath a grey sky laden with heavy, plump, water-filled clouds.  I knew there shouldn't have been anything warm near me.  Yet there it was, but I was too tired to figure it out.  I went back to sleep.  But I felt it again.  It felt very nice against my cold face.  Soft.  Warm.  Warm, soft, soft, warm, there was a hint of a breath on my skin . . . and then I knew exactly where I was at:  I was next to him.

We had spent the past few weeks together virtually day and night, spending our waking and sleeping hours in tight, compact spaces.  Automobiles and buses and airplanes and cheap motels and hotels.   And while the world around us changed, varying from extremely different scenery of flat plains to red rocks to green forests to beige deserts to sandy beaches to volcanic mountains, we stayed grounded by hanging onto each other.  I chuckled a silent chuckle, unpatting that silent pat on the back I had given myself.  Because I hadn't traveled as much as I thought I traveled; I was always carrying a piece of home with me - him.  And in that moment, without having to open my eyes to confirm the accuracy of my guess, I knew he was kissing my cheek, like he has done countless times in the past, like I have grown accustomed to receiving, wanting, needing. 

While losing myself for temporary moments of time feels lovely, weightless, I like even better knowing that there is someone in this world who can bring me back to where I am always aching to be:  right next to him.

too many thoughts.

It used to be that I could only write whenever I was sad or emotional.  When my feelings were heightened, my creativity would be, too.  But over the past few weeks -- I've written too many entries.  Way too many to even sort through.  This time though, it's because I've been much too happy, excited, grateful for every bad and good thing that has happened recently. 

I don't know what to do with all of these thoughts.  This is new to me.  At times it feels as though I am on the cusp of becoming a different type of writer.  It's riveting, yet unfamiliar.  Either way, I am incredibly excited for 2011.  A little birdie tells me it's going to be a life-changing year.  I hope I will be able to find the time and strength to document it all, but perhaps the memories I anticipate making will be the type that will not need the protection of words in order to become memorialized.  Perhaps they will be the type that will become naturally ingrained within me, that I will carry around with me daily without even realizing it.  Perhaps. 

The possibilities are endless.