There's nothing to encounter when we're counting on the house of cards to fall, fall, fall.

Before we had reached the sand, he asked me if I was satisfied.  He said, "no one ever really checks in, you know?  And I am, but I just want to make sure you are."  I never know how to react to questions as absurd as that one.  Of course I'm not satisfied in a relationship.  So I said, "yes, absolutely," because the conversation that would have ensued if I told the truth would probably have brought an end to things that are - more often than not - satisfactory.

We stopped before the water where he gave a long-winded explanation for his behavior, then he asked my advice and I could think of nothing to say.  On an interest scale of one to ten, I was at about a two.  I was sitting on the sand, watching the occasional boat drift by; and he could not hold my attention.

It's unintentional, but whenever I catch myself giving an unreciprocated lot, I am scared into regression.  I wonder what happened to my drive, my ability to persevere, that reassurance that says a storm doesn't last forever.

The buildings of this city float at night.

It's been a terrible two weeks, relationship-wise, but in other areas, I'm doing fine.  A refreshing hint of self-actualization has managed to intermingle with my disgust of codependent behavior; he must hate this new person, but I'm glad to feel like myself again.

I went home for a week.  It always happens that I lose interest in my 'other' life when I'm back there, so I tried very hard to focus on him and remind myself that he is significant.  We have our own monumental collections of insecurities, which makes me think it probably isn't a good time for either of us to make any life-changing relational moves like falling in love or moving in together or anything like that.

Arkansas was ridiculously beautiful last week.  Everything was lush and green and magical and I was very, very high.  I trained my sisters in the stealing arts, caught up with old boyfriends and contracted another desperate hunger for making children's books.  Then, when I returned to California, I had a difficult time adjusting.  I spent an entire evening in the cold sand, crying as the sun set and wondering how many more bad decisions I will make with my future.

Many wasted days have passed and I am extraordinarily lazy and hungover at 2 p.m. on a Sunday.  

I wish my sisters were here.  I miss 'em.