no one can cry while holding a balloon.
Life has been...emotional to say the least. So I bought myself a cheer-up balloon, not knowing it would be so large I might chance popping it as I squeeeeeezed it into my backseat.
Goodbye-days aside, I've never cried about Gabe and my long-distance conundrum. On my loneliest days, I simply theorize that there are many other people in the world who deserve to shed tears over love, and I, being blessed in simply having it, am certainly not one of them. It's always worked, my brave and selfless recitation, until last Thursday, when I sobbed into the phone so fiercely that no sound came out. Iraq then saw fit to cut off that phone call no less than nine times, and during the precious few moments of functioning phone service there was such a delay that conversation became impossible.
Long-distance...it's exhausting. I bury deep most negative thoughts about distance, as it's presently a fact of life for us and no amount of complaints or loathing will change the situation. More than its being entirely idle, complaining only makes Gabriel feel guilty for his absence and me, even more alone. But, I can't hold it in much longer: It's wearing on me. International distance is no cakewalk. (Mmm. Cake. Have I mentioned I'm on a diet, too? More about that next week.) It's rather like climbing aboard the merry-go round and, naively believing it will be all giggles and good times, asking for a spin. The first few go-arounds are exhilarating manageable, but after a while all you can do is hang on, try not to vomit and wait for someone to mercifully bring it to a stop. When there's no visible finish line in sight...it's just 'round and 'round, forcing you to lose track of days both past and to come.
And on another front, I'm looking for a new home. My current tiny nest has been loved through and through for three years...absolutely to bits. But, I expect life to be changing in the next year and I'm in need of a place that's slightly larger than what I have now. In a perfect world, I'd wave a magic wand over my place, the living room would suddenly have hardwood floors + ten extra feet and that one tiny, pesky wall would come crashing down like the walls of Jericho. Everything else would stay exactly as-is, and when life changed there would be room for two of us here...forever and ever. Places steal little bits of my heart...and when I leave this little apartment, I'll leave a bit of my heart behind as well.
A series of those days has filled my last few weeks, and my closest girlfriends are far-flung...too far to allow me a teary dinner with someone who doesn't think my emotions over phone calls and apartments are frilly ridiculousness. (Although, in the grand scheme of things, they are, I know.) All I want in the world is to come home to Gabriel, an apartment so perfect I could cry, a relationship free of phones + computers, and a night spent ordering from our fav Thai place and watching nerdy documentaries. Just the ol' life of your typical couple...predictable Friday night dates and the occasional tiff over a dirty sock.
Tomorrow will come, and I will find myself one day closer to getting off this ride, but for now I will buy myself balloons and nail polish.