Those Shoes.

Those Shoes.

I have a pair of huge, ugly, bright-white Manly Reeboks, which I have used only a few times, for an aerobics class I took LAST winter (couldn't wear street shoes in the dance studio).

I unearthed them the other day so that I could go work out, and John freaked out.

"What?! Those...those are hideous! Do you have ANY different shoes?"
"JOHN. This is my only pair of sneakers."
"But--"
"Stop, stop, don't even...Please?"

The conversation was resurrected today, when I mentioned that this afternoon while he's in class, I'm going to go work out (second time in two days! wheee!).
He swallowed. "With those shoes?"
"Yes. With THOSE shoes."
"You need a different pair. Seriously, I'll chip in and help buy them!"
"...You know, John, there are people in 3rd-World countries who have NO shoes."
"So, you should give those to them."

Regarding the New Shirt

Regarding the New Shirt

I recently purchased my first! ever! item of clothing from The Gap! (The Gap! cannot be said without an exclamation point of breathless awe). This item of clothing was on clearance, for my eyes always seek out every Sale! sign when I enter any store. It was long-sleeved and softly-knit, a quiet shade of pink that seemed to murmur, "You are in love with me, for I look like cotton candy. You want to hold me and worship me." I bought it, partially due to the fact that John had commented on the fact that I've been wearing mostly earth-tones lately, various shades of dirt and more dirt.

I showed it to him yesterday.

"Oh! Honey. I got this at The Gap! yesterday when I was with Kristen."
"You were with Kristen?"
"Yes."
"Kristen was with you when you bought this?"
"YES."

And his level of respect for Kristen decreased significantly, for she broke one of the main tenets of a Good Friendship: Friends don't let friends buy stupid clothes.

And then I fished the bag and receipt out of the trash can and set them on the dresser.

Yesterday...

Yesterday...

Yesterday was pretty fantastic. Mom and Dad, John and I went out for lunch and spent part of the afternoon together. I always love watching him interact with my parents -- joking around, talking politics with Dad, goofing around with my Mom. I look at him, and I am so proud of the person he is; the fact that he voluntarily spends time with my family (and likes it!) makes me appreciate him even more.

After Mom and Dad left, he and I went back to my dorm, because I needed to get a couple of things before we went to his place to watch a movie. He was sleepy, and I told him he could nap on my bed while I checked my e-mail and stuff. He slept through ten Beatles' songs, Faure's "Pavane" (2x), all three movements of Rachmaninoff's 2nd Piano Concerto, and the first movement of Rach's 3rd.

We spent the evening watching movies at his house, drinking Sangria (and too much Boone's Farm Strawberry Margarita -- I kept giggling), and eating Nutella on crackers.

Here's the thing about Nutella. I had never tried it until two days ago, when I had heard enough about it that I was finally motivated to drive to SuperWalmart and try it myself. I sat in the parking lot after I made my purchase, unscrewing the lid to the container, and peeling back the gold foil with great anticipation. As I sat there in the early-morning sunlight, listening to Mozart (it was his birthday) and basking in the glorious warmth of 38 degrees, I lifted the jar to my nose and sniffed it -- then gnawed and licked every last morsel off the foil. I took it over to John's house at lunch, and we stood there in his kitchen, diving in, marring the smooth surface, gouging out lumps of the rich chocolatey-hazelnut goodness with our fingers.

That jar is 2/3 gone. This is the sort of disaster that happens when John's and my sweet teeth get together and participate in a full-on sugar orgy. We go to movies and sneak in our own candy (thanks for the big shoulder-bag for Christmas, Mom!). A bag of Jelly Bellies, a box of Junior Mints, and an Almond Joy? The Jelly Bellies are gone within the first few minutes, and by the time the credits roll, we're left with empty cartons and wrappers. A huge Cadbury bar? Gone in half an hour.

A week and a half ago, I was feeling rotten from PMS, lying on his sofa, watching a movie; he made me hot chocolate, rubbed my feet, covered me up with blankets, and kept stuffing Cadbury with Almonds into my mouth.
He looked at me questioningly as he waved a morsel by my face.
"Does chocolate really help?"
"...Relieve symptoms?"
"Yeah."
"No, but it tastes reeeeally good."
"Oh. Okay. Here, have some more."

Help us, Obi-Wan. You're our only hope.

Help us, Obi-Wan. You're our only hope.

John is obsessed with Star Wars (I do not utter the word "obsessed" lightly). When we first met, I thought it was cute that he liked Star Wars so much, that he had all the DVDs and debated Star Wars history with his friends. I thought this was a lovable little quirk in his personality, that he was so into the series. Star Wars hasn't ever been one of my favourite series; I don't pick it up and pop it in the DVD player frequently, by any means. I've watched it with him, and it was okay. Well, to be truthful, he and his friends watched Episode III; I fell asleep 20 minutes into the movie.

For Christmas, he got a book entitled, "Star Wars and Philosophy," and my heart sank just a little. No. Someone was feeding the obsession (That person must be the kind who would infiltrate the local AA chapter and pass around a flask of vodka at the meetings. Gosh. Idiot!).

Now, when he and his friend's conversations [d]evolve into a debate about the ancient Sith and how they rose to power, I've pretty much learned to tune them out. I know more than I never wanted to, about mitichlorian levels, about the Sith's enticement, about the fact that Darth Vader's costume was inspired by the apparel of ancient Japanese shogun warriors. I can sit there reading my own book with a tolerant -- if frozen -- half-smile on my fact.

But I just read this, and a chill zipped up my spine, for it's an eerie premonition of what our kids will be like.

Burn, baby, burrrrrn!

Burn, baby, burrrrn!

I just worked out for a solid forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes?! Why, that's almost an hour! Over six miles on bike, and over a mile of jogging/walking. !! So, after exerting myself and burning up all those fat molecules and calories, why don't I look any thinner? It's so disappointing. Maybe it's just a streak left over from childhood, but I always expect to be able to find some evidence (other than my aching legs and the fact that I'm smelly now) that I just exercised. Does my face look hollower? Do my legs look slimmer? Is my butt tighter? Are my jeans looser?

NO?

Crap.


Things have been pretty crazy this semester so far; I couldn't get into a certain class that I wanted, so I'm down to only 12 credits. It's okay though, because the classes that I am in are much more demanding than most of the other classes I've taken. My Topics in World History class scared the crap out of me during the first class; I wanted to run away, but that was partially due to the fact that I was sitting near the front of the room, and people were behind me. I don't sit in the back, against the wall (where I'd like to be), because I don't want the teacher to think I'm a slacker, and I want to be motivated to participate in class...but I hate having people sitting behind me. It freaks me out and makes me extremely uneasy. Today we rearranged the chairs; instead of the traditional setup, we put them in a horseshoe-shape around the perimeter of the room, and I could not believe how much that helped me calm down.

I'm taking a political science course this semester as well; the professor is from Iran, and hilarious. He knows John, and knows that we are together; when he sees me without John, he raises his arms into the air, "Dänika! Where is the man??" On the first day, he discussed his accent. "I do have an accent; I've had this accent for a very long time, and I don't think it will go away by the end of the semester. So if that doesn't work for you...there's the door." He touched on the subject of gun control: "Some people say that 'Guns don't kill people; people kill people.' That is ridiculous. And if you have a problem with that, it is not because I am liberal -- it is because you are stupid." Aah, the bluntness.


In non-school life, things have been pretty good, too. :) John might be going abroad to teach English in Japan for a few months after he graduates this May; we still haven't heard back from the organization as to whether he'd be able to do only half of the program, instead of being there for nearly a year. He'd be able to make more money teaching English in Japan than substitute-teaching here; so for that reason, Japan is quite enticing. However, the fact that we'd be apart for so long is the reason why he might not go to Japan; he had been rather excited about the possibility of Japan, until last Sunday, when I finally told him how I felt about it. I'd been 100% supportive for months (whoa! months! I can't believe how fast time is passing. :) ), because I want him to do what he thinks he should; yet at the same time, I did want him to know what I really think about it. I explained to him that I can see how enticing it is-- and that the separation would be easier for him due to the fact that he'd be in a new environment, with new people and experiences, which make the time pass faster...but that I'd still be here, on campus without him, not meeting him for coffee in the morning, not watching movies late at night, walking down the stairs to the Senate office and not seeing him there. And then I lost it -- I hadn't cried about it in front of him, because I didn't want to sway his decision, but this time, I had tears running down my face. And he pulled me over to him and cradled my head on his shoulder as he wiped the tears off my face. "Oh, baby, oh no, I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

And a few days later when I mentioned something about Japan, he interrupted me --
"IF I go. And that's a really big 'IF.'"

And I felt like singing.

The Dante's Inferno Test has sent you to Purgatory!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Extreme
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	High
Level 2 (Lustful)	Very Low
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Low
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Low
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very Low
Level 7 (Violent)	Low
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Low
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Very Low

Take the Dante Inferno Hell Test

Very melodramatic - and completely honest.

Very melodramatic - and completely honest.

I miss him so much that my skin hurts. I know it's only been a week, and I should feel lucky, for there are so many couples in love, who can snatch only a few days here and there, with long, desolate stretches in between. So, people who are in relationships like that, I know, I know, I shouldn't complain. But perhaps the fact that he and I were so spoiled, in a way, getting to see each other very nearly every day since we met...maybe that makes it more difficult.

From the second we part, my mind counts down the minutes until I get to see his smile again, hear his laugh, read together, cook with him, be in his arms, and smell his neck. I had to leave abruptly last week, summoned home, and the fact that I didn't get to prepare myself for the parting, made it hurt worse. We talk on the phone, and while I'm happy that I know him so well that I can picture every facial expression that goes with his words, it makes me long for the days when it was strange to talk on the phone -- so foreign, to hear his voice without being next to him.

There's a possibility of him teaching in Japan this fall, for four months, and the thought of it seems impossible right now, when I miss him so much. I know we could manage; of course we would. But it would certainly be a lonely time -- and so odd for me, still being in school without him there. No staying up late working on papers together, no early-morning coffee dates, no late-night perambulations through town -- l-o-n-e-l-y.

I love that we don't have to do anything in particular when we see each other -- it doesn't have to be a Huge Event, like, Oh, Look, Honey, We're Going Out for Dinner -- we're happy to just be with each other. Reading, cooking, watching movies -- just being. Sometimes we do go out, for dinner, or to a movie, but it's just another fun thing we do; it's not a big deal. When we met, we automatically had a certain level of comfortability, and ever since, that comfortability has merely increased. Things have never been tense or stressful -- I've never felt as though he expects me to be something I'm not; I've never felt the need to continually, purposefully, impress him.

But now, now, I just miss him.