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.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas!

Gifts received from family:
glasses/contacts (from mom and dad)
Shower gel, chapstick, lotion (from nieces)
Borders & Waldenbooks gift card (from brother/sil)
French book & scrapbooking stuff (from sister/bil)

Gift received from significant other:
turquoise/gold bracelet, very Egyptian-looking (if they used turquoise, that is)

Gifts given:
beautiful old book (to John)
JFK memorial record (you know, like a biiiig black cd?)(to John)

(p.s.: the items I gave to John were things that I had procured long ago; I didn't have time to go Christmas shopping this year, so the gifts to my family are still forthcoming.)

(p.p.s.: actually, there's another gift to John - I'm not telling him that my IQ is nine points higher than his; no, I'm not vocalizing this, just having a fun old time partying it up inside. Woohoo!)

I was homeschooled.

I was homeschooled.

Over the past while, JBK has been continually amazed at how little pop culture I was exposed to when I was growing up.

Today, over lunch:

"How about 'Cheers'?"
"No. Never."
"Never seen 'Cheers'?!"
"No."
"Wow. This is like discovering an Indian tribe that evaded the White Man and his influence."

I'm on my way . . .

The past couple of weeks have been absolutely brimming with emotions. Frustration, stress, bliss, comfort, annoyance, panic, contentment, and the knowledge that everything is exactly as it should be. (Except for this nasty cold . . . And the karaoke.)

My door is shut against the sound of my dorm floor's Christmas party (Bah, Humbug!), my drawing utensils are scattered about me, making a halo of chalks and cray-pas to my prostrate body, as I lie on my stomach, gazing at a blank sheet of 9x12 paper.

I have to stare at the sheet for a second, poring over every square inch of white perfection. It always intrigues me, takes away my breath for a minute. It's beautiful in its very newness, yet I wonder what it will become. It's pure potential.

(As are we all.)

It's times like this that my senses are heightened, that I love even more the feel of the chalks between my fingertips; I revel in the chalkdust leftover on my hands, the dust caught on my carpet or desk as I gently blow the loose particles from my drawing.

I've organized my drawings in this end-of-semester frenzy, realizing that I need eight more before the end of the week is up. I've been drawing steadily through the semester, but I'm too much of a perfectionist, and that's my hangup. If I had realized earlier, my teacher doesn't care what it looks like. She exclaims over a few stray coloured marks across a sheet of black paper -- the squiggles must speak to her. But I'm clinging tenaciously to my belief that my drawings should BE something, something I recognize. At this point, it seems that for me to resort to churning out Modern Art, well, it seems like a cop-out.

So I'm here tonight, listening to Shivery, staring at reflections of Christmas lights, and catching a glimpse of random snowflakes as they lazily waltz past my window.

I'm distressed. Christmas Eve has always been my favourite of the Christmas holidays, for Christmas Day holds memories of hot, dry air, blindingly bright sunlight, and a tangle of emotions, including being on edge, frustration, confrontation, and being rushed. I love preparing for Christmas Eve -- I love anticipation, preparation, the excitement of looking forward to something. And this year, I'm being robbed of it. My last final is on December 23rd . . . which means that I'll get to my parents' house either the night of the 23rd or morning of the 24th. NO TIME TO PREPARE ANYTHING.

I feel as though I'm robbed of one of my favourite parts of the holidays. And that makes me so sad. I think it might be the culmination of a ton of things on my mind, but I cannot wait to have a place of my own, a house, with a husband, with some colour other than BEIGE on the walls. I want to slather indoor semi-gloss paint onto blank walls (and revel in the colour and smell of the latex paint), pin up some of my artwork and photography, arrange furniture, bake, cook, do dishes, organize my spice rack, go grocery shopping together, lust after baby clothes at the mall (oh, wait, I already do that . . .), make the place a home, comfortable and welcoming.

Things I've done in the past 10 days:

Things I've done in the past 10 days:

- made four batches of cookies
- taken two naps
- taken a wintery hike and numbed my mitten-less hands
- worked
- made a paper snowflake
- done dishes (not my own)
- watched "Back to the Future" for the first time
- gotten another A (!)
- killed the battery in my replacement vehicle (way to go)
- been having wheat again
- been mocked
- bought carrot cake for my roommate's birthday
- not changed the month on my calendar
- had the opportunity to study abroad in South Korea for free
- rewatched "It's a Wonderful Life" and decided I don't really hate it
- cried during "It's a Wonderful Life"
- laughed a lot
- drawn for my class
- listened to much Christmas music
- discovered that when transcribing an interview recorded in a crowded Starbucks(?), it's sometimes easier to discern the interviewee's voice when I cover the speakers with my hands or arms or other appendages.

yeah, he's a keeper...

yeah, he's a keeper...

The first time he saw me after I got back from Thanksgiving break (aka "Gorge yourself on anything you want, because after all, it's Thanksgiving, and it doesn't count! Have another cookie -- or two, or four, or thirty-seven!"), he hugged me, picked me up, and said...


"Wow, did you lose weight?"

Inspiration.

Inspiration.

I usually get inspired to compose blog entries when I'm behind the wheel of my car, traveling alone. I keep the radio on for company, and tonight during a 2-hour drive, I listened to part of "This American Life," one of my favourite shows on public radio. Something about the personal aspect of the show inspires me to write down my own thoughts, but I'm always traveling when I hear "This American Life," unable to access a keyboard or notebook. I try to hold onto the thoughts, the great openings to fantastic entries, until I reach my destination, but they're slippery and I lose my grasp on them within miles.

Other times, I find myself outlining the day I had, while lying in bed at night, just before drifting off to sleep.

Neither of those repeated scenarios are conducive to blogging.

Perhaps the problem is that I have too much fodder for entries, too many thoughts on my mind, too many beautiful scenes around me, things I don't like to inscribe for the world to see. These, I write down for myself, filing them away, to be looked at later.

So.

I could write about my Thanksgiving weekend, how I had been looking forward to it for a month, but over the past couple of weeks, grew rather apathetic about it, and now am just wishing it was over.

Or I could write that the sunset tonight was amazing, and lasted for the better part of an hour.

Or I could say that I tried to make fudge tonight, and I was pretty confident about it because really, how hard could it be? Answer: VERY hard. I have an 8x8 greased baking dish full of dry chocolate crumbles.

Or I could write about the fact that when I came home for Thanksgiving, I accidentally left some important information back on the desk in my dorm room, and had to make a special four-hour round-trip back there today to retrieve it. It wasn't so bad, though, because I got to spend a little time with JBK, watching Seinfeld, eating soup, then drinking hot coffee and dunking homemade spritz cookies in it, talking about things from our childhoods. I adore how comfortable everything is with him; how any situation is, if we're together, natural and unthreatening. Big social events? No longer a problem. With him by my side, I feel protected, safe, and complete. Today, I got there a few minutes before he did, and when he arrived, he took the stairs two at a time and immediately folded me in his arms, and it was as though I was finally home.

I'm unspeakably blessed.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving!

There is a plethora of reasons I am thankful this year:

For my family - it's good to not be living at home anymore (darn right), but I love my family to death.

For health - everyone else's, as well as mine.

For traveling - a year ago today, I was in London.

For church - it is so beautiful.

For Autumn - it was long this year, and glorious!

For books - and for the people who take the time to write them.

For professors - who encourage critical thinking, instead of spoon-feeding
information.

For friends - with whom I can pick up right where we left off, even after a year.

For snowstorms - with big, fluffy flakes.

For walks - while it's snowing, walking in the unblemished snow, late at night.

For drinks - coffee and tea late at night, warming up after those walks in the snow.

For music - lately, for Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" CD most of all.

For Kristen and Troy - because without them, we wouldn't have met.

For opportunities - and having the right to decide for myself whether I should pursue them or not.

For vocabulary - working "extrapolate," "monotony," and "nefarious" into conversation on a regular basis.

For extra quilts - I love waking up in a cocoon of blankets, snugly warm in a freezing room.

For him - for being cared for by the most amazing, wonderful man I've ever had the privilege of knowing. For being more myself when I'm around him than with anyone else. For feeling at home, finally. For this.

Yes, I have much to be thankful for.

the highlight of last week:

when we finally kiss goodnight
oh i'll hate going out in the storm.
but if you really hold me tight,
all the way home i'll be warm!

the fire is slowly dying
and, my dear,
we're still good-bye-ing!
but as long as you love me so,
let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

one of the highlights of the last week: finishing coffee at Perkins at 1 AM, walking through the early-morning snowstorm, waiting in the car for the engine to warm up, for the heater to kick in. we listened to Bing Crosby crooning Christmas songs, watching the snowflakes swirl around the car, seeing the festive sparkle of city lights from across the lake; his arms around me, my head on his shoulder, his lips occasionally brushing my forehead as we quietly talked to each other.

something that never ceases to amaze me is how we connect on so many different levels. there's overwhelming mental and emotional attraction and stability, as well as physical attraction; we each delight in the fact that the other is intelligent, that we have so many similarities on which to build a broad, stable foundation for this relationship, but enough differences to keep conversation interesting, to always have something new to bring to the table.

one of our favourite things to do is, when everything is quiet, fantasize about where we're going to travel someday. "where are we?" i asked the other evening, out of the blue; without having to ask me what i meant, he grew thoughtful, his arms around me.
somewhere in middle-Europe; Germany or Austria, thought my mind, and i couldn't wait for him to answer, to see if he felt the same thing.
"vienna," he said, and my mind relaxed, happy; "we're staying in a townhome bed and breakfast, and it has wooden floors; at the foot of the bed, there's a fireplace."
"and no animal fur," i added, referencing another trip we had pictured the day before.
he laughed quietly; "yes, no animal fur."
"what did we do tonight?" went to a concert, went to a concert, i chanted mentally.
"we just got back from the opera," he replied.
"and it's snowing, and our gloves and scarves and long coats are drying by the fire," i said, getting caught up in the mental imagery.
"yes, it is. and right after the concert, we went out for wine."
my mind laughed, remembering our professor who got wasted in Europe; i opened my mouth to say, "except there's no wine, because karl drank it all," but he beat me to it.
"but karl's along, so there's no wine left."

it's still over a month to Christmas Day, but already, this is most amazing Christmas i've ever had.

The time of my life

We take late-night walks around town, wandering for miles, keeping each other's hands warm in the 27-degree weather, discussing everything, enjoying each other's presence. I am more at ease, more comfortable, more complete than I ever have been. It was reassurring this weekend, when we were at my parent's house and it felt as though he fit in - as though he belonged there. My parents think he's wonderful, and are so delighted that we found each other; his mother said that, amongst other things, I'm the sweetest girl he's ever known. He's someone I can be proud of; someone with convictions and morals, someone who has amazingly deep respect for me. We spent the weekend together, hours and hours of travelling in a car, and never tired of each other's presence. Yesterday, we were separated for 12 hours and couldn't wait to see each other again, so we met at 11:30pm and went for a walk. I love that his face lights up when he sees me; that he shows affection in front of his friends; when we're together and he's talking to someone else, he reaches over for my hand, just to let me know that he's still aware of the fact that I'm there. We meet for coffee in the mornings, and it's such a beautiful way to start the day.

Life.

I won't be posting much over the next while; life has gotten so busy. The main catalyst is that I've had late midterms last week and this week (four papers due this week alone, as well as some last week), and it has created havoc and destruction, making it difficult for me to stay on top of what is usually a normal load. I've fallen behind in my work-work because of it, and that's driving me crazy.

Add in the fact that I'm completely enjoying someone...and the end result is that my schedule is bursting at the seams.

it's been a while...

it's been a while...

...since I've posted. It's not that I have nothing to say; my brain is overflowing, but I don't want to say anything here yet.

I'll share soon. I promise. But for now, just be content to know that life seems like a beautful dream - but better than a dream, for I don't have to fear waking up and finding that it vanished.

From one of his friends: (haha)

Message: 11.03.05 12:50pm B: You are cordially invited to the upcoming student senate meeting. A John K. has informed us that you are a prospect of his and that he would like you to see him in intellectual action. He'll probably stay awake if you're there too. I know he seems a little pedantic, but give him a chance. It's not a bald spot, it's a solar panel for a sex machine.


Reply: 11.04.05 1:59pm Danika: I would like to extend my sincere thanks and convey my deep appreciation for the cordial invitation to the upcoming student senate meeting (which I accept, of course). I am delighted to be considered a prospect of a John K, even though he has a funny last name; and from what I've seen of his intellectual action, it's pretty hot, even after a few drinks. And have no fear; to me, pedantic=really, really, really great.

all-nighter

The First (and will be the last, for a while, anyway) All-Nighter I've Had in a Long Time

He likes that I'm articulate; he appreciates my vocabulary and my ability to state what I think (apparently. you can laugh, if you want). He loves the fact that I'm gentle, and thinks I'm entirely appropriate. He couldn't believe we met because of his roommate.

We talked from 10 pm until a quarter after five this morning, about politics, religion, school, health, having children; music, beds, reincarnation, the topic of If We Could Be Anyone from History, Who Would We Be?, board games (he was always Professor Plum; I was always Miss Scarlet), food, growing up, "Is there anything really bad about you that I should know? Because if there is, please tell me now", and travelling, while relaxing on the futon.

Nothing happened, nothing uneasy or forward; instead, it was beautifully comfortable, yet exciting; a time of amazing conversation that could've happened anywhere; lying under the stars, or on a walk, but we were both tired from a long walk and a little alcohol and everyone else was sleeping, anyway.

We talked and laughed -- at one point, just after our Board Game episode of the conversation, he sighed, "I'm going straight to Hell," to which I giggled and replied, "Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200," and we both found that insanely funny for a few minutes -- and then we talked about how strange it is that we have managed to not meet for the past semester and a half, when we have the same majors and freakishly similar interests (hello, Big Band Music?).

When he had walked into the room, I was introduced to him, then stayed and sat on the floor and talked with him, because somehow I knew that of all the people there, he was the one I would want to talk to, want to get to know.

I told him this morning that when I first saw him, I felt as though I knew him; no, that it was more a feeling that I should know him.

"That's the perfect way to describe it. It was the same way with me," he said.

Later, I said something brilliant about growing up, becoming one's own person, thinking and believing and having likes and dislikes because of yourself, not because anyone else wants you to; being able to develop without succumbing to peer pressure. And then there was silence, as he took a deep breath.

"what?" I wondered about the sudden deep inhalation.

"you gave me butterflies. I looked over and saw you, and got butterflies."