This is why I love you, Bridget.
Moments after I froze, blushing madly, because he caught me dancing in the kitchen last night, by myself, which would have looked like a cross between someone caught in the twitches of a very slow and sensual torture and a spiritual revival as experienced by a hippie lovechild.
It's hidden far away
But someday I may tell
The tale of metal tangle
When into your world I fell
Without you now I wander soaking
Secretly afraid
'Cause in your grasp the fears don't last
And some of them have stayed
Sample in a Jar was on, and everyone knows I can't sit still during that song. It has to get out, whatever it is. My very own revival.
He laughed. He was still laughing this morning as he headed off the ghost of 5:17 and offered to run with me, which we did and he talked about a concrete trust in us that he didn't recognize before, which is what led him to not stop me when I took off in the first place because he knows he's better than anyone (the return of the rarely seen ego) and if I'm off trying to conjure up ghosts then he knows that I'm going to be unsuccessful at it. My time with Cole is over now. He's not coming back. He isn't Caleb.
Jacob thinks Caleb is a jerk, a creep and an idiot and hopefully not willing to be the victim of any more of Jacob's haymakers, and probably only sent the email to passively stir up some extra trouble and nurse his wounded ego. Jacob was incredibly sympathetic to his plight, pointing out that if I had written something about Jacob not being able to work his penis properly with all the readers I have, he'd dig a hole in the ground and then hit himself in the head with a shovel until he fell in it.
Then he laughed again, because he really doesn't care about Caleb and Caleb isn't Cole and so I'm going to stuff this subject into a rowboat and push it off mightily from shore and it can beach somewhere else. I'm done with it.
You tricked me like the others
And now I don't belong
The simple smiles and good times seem all wrong
Jacob ran slower today and waited for responses and he got to indulge himself in the contents of my silly head quite thoroughly while we splashed through mudpuddles and squinted every time we headed east, since the sun slept in again and came up low over the city.
His official comment is that I'm doing well and I'm still on track to possibly resembling a human bean someday. Not his words, mine, since his were longer and so darned clinical. We'll see what tomorrow brings because I haven't been to therapy in two weeks. I hope Claus has a fresh notepad. In any case, there's a rather optimistic outlook to me and I'm intrigued by that. Since I have no reputation as an optimist, I'm just going to try it out like a six year old on a two-wheeler and strike off shakily down the sidewalk with my helmet askew and see what happens.
