Today, an oddly complete circle. Geof telling me about his relationship with a friend, a relationship that is rapidly approaching a point that will require him to make some major decisions soon. Brad, flush with a bit of domesticat-esque giddiness over a new girlfriend. John, dealing with his girlfriend's probable upcoming conversion to Catholicism and the effects that will have on their relationship.

But now, it's just me—and my thoughts—again. They won't settle down. I tried to write—but I can't clear my mind into abstraction, the way I need it to be in order for the words to flow properly. The voices, the questions, the comments are all too strong in my head, elbowing for room. There are lots of rhapsodical comments that could be made about seeing both ends of a relationship at once. Forget it, eh—you can come up with those yourself, and you're not interested in hearing me yap about them.

"I ponder the endlessness of the stars,
ignoring said same of my father.
Either it'll move me
or it'll move right through me;
fully, completely"

Sigh. Get out of my head, lyrics. They don't fit. Tonight, nothing fits.

I'm chanting: Jeff is done with finals in about eight days. Soon. It's impossible not to think about. When I let myself think about it I realize how much I miss him—miss him, miss him terribly, the blue-eyed brunette who serves as my rock, my anchor, my inspiration. After I hung up the phone with Brad I wanted to dash into the kitchen, a five-year-old in my excitement, and spill all of the details out in one happy headlong rush—

- but as I came out of the guest bedroom and turned off the light, I looked into the kitchen and saw him hunched over his laptop. Whatever it was, no matter how good my story, it needed to wait. It's finals week. So I made dinner, and stood over the stove, thinking over everything that got said and not said.

I miss him. Some days I miss him so much it hurts. Tonight I wanted to turn off all the burners on the stove and wrap my arms around him, to hold him in the immediacy of the moment and tell him that it's okay, we made it two years like this and we can hang on for another week—or, at least, that's what I'm telling myself, because I can deal with that. But instead I contented myself with catching looks every now and then while he studied whatever-the-assignment-was that he had pulled up on his laptop.

He ate his dinner much earlier than I did. I came into the computer room to add a post or two to geek-chick, and while I was in here, the phone rang—John. I cupped my hand over the mouthpiece and said, "When the timer dings, just take the corn out, and it's all ready to eat." Sometime around an hour later, conversation over and done, I came in and finally ate my dinner (slightly chilled, still tasty).

I'll go to bed tonight and lie there, listening to Jeff breathe; the regularity of it I often use as a sort of warm metronome to help seduce my mind into sleeping. I'll think about everyone—Brad, who is probably still grinning, and John, who is still trying to figure things out.

As Gareth said, "Amy: shoulder to the world."

For now, sleep, and cat-cuddling. Though not in that order.