2004-05-24..4:50 p.m.

Word of the Month for June 2004

�Cranectomy�

The process of permanently removing cranberries from one�s navel.

So two interesting and unusual happenings this weekend. My nigh yearlong menstrual moratorium ended Saturday night, and the nigh on five year deferral of any acknowledgement of any *thing* towards R. cracked Friday. And perhaps not so much �cracked� as tapped sharply somewhere along a fault line whereupon it severed and split straight down the middle and fell heavily, crushing the pillars of Sensibility and Are You Fucking Joking? that usually hold that cookie together.

The weird thing is: he initiated it. The weirder things is: he knows ALL ABOUT this little triad of confusion and overactive sexdrives I�ve settled into. We�d been talking about it earlier in the evening, we agreed that I really ought to tell Matthew that I can�t be with him, despite the fact I�ve probably got the greater emotional attachment to him, but because I�d definitely end up hurting him. He�s the loveliest of lovely blokes, but I�d cheat all over him. I joked that they were like the prizes behind doors 1-2-3 in some cheap seventies game show, that for the moment are being hungrily admired for their paintwork while the contemplation was in progress. Later, from his end of our sweaty heap, he asked if he was Door Number Four, and if we�re going with that metaphor, he�s always been the trapdoor, so I told him that.

This is not good. I mean it was, and half the time I was just thinking, Holy Fuck it�s R! But the other half I was thinking, O Jesus. This is R. He�s not supposed to be a Door. He�s not an Option. He shouldn�t even wanting to BE an option. Not yet. I�ve had a theory about this one and it�s longstanding. Not likely to change anytime soon. If I get with him, it�s playing for keeps, so my even pretending it�s a possibility isn�t going to happen for a couple more years at least. And of course, we don�t talk about it. Same as the last time. We do that guppy-mouthed thing instead were we�ll go to start saying something just as the other person suddenly looks over and clam up. It�s like we can�t even attempt to broach it if the other is looking, because that will just make it all too real and messy. But I�ve got to. It was more than just an easy fuck, and there�s that little nugget inside bursting with resentment because of that. Because if it was just an easy fuck on his side, he knows (he has to!) how I�ve felt about him. Because if it wasn�t, he just keeps sidestepping any actual discussion. Because if it wasn�t, he decided to make his move (the first move in nearly five year) just as I�m starting something with someone for is actually on par with him. Who could quite easily threaten his position as Resident Pedestalled. Fuck fuck fuck. I look at the MC and don�t think of anyone else. I looked at R. Saturday morning, our faces both half buried in pillow, staring Cyclopsed at each other, questioning everything with no idea what he was thinking. And worse thinking, Where was this a couple of months ago.

I stayed at the MC�s on Saturday night, after the Betsey. Still nothing more physical than walking arms linked at the wrist, or a hand placed firmly on the hip as we sleep with legs entwined, or him drawing his hands up my thighs as I perch on top of his mini freezer to kiss me on the cheek, or kissing lingeringly on the mouth when we part. It�s just become quite ridiculously tender and sweet, and we can still natter about everything, and get into heated debates, and cuddle on the couch, and tease and flirt mercilessly. We are quite peppered with sexual innuendo, and entirely platonically innocent in one.

Yesterday I went to see Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind with Matthew, which is just a beautiful beautiful film. Jim Carrey is such a phenomenal serious actor, and is so utterly different from every other character he�s ever played, I forgot (haha) it was him. Kate Winslet was her usual enchanting unpredictable self. The whole film is intriguing and scintillating and visually spectacular. I have half a mind to see it again. I also cried buckets, because I invariably get emotionally attached to characters, and because I�m MENSTRUATING! You should have seen me when I realised that THAT was why I�d been feeling all not-quite-right *down there* all day, and why I�d been all hippy and belly for the past ten days, AND THEN when I realised I hadn�t forgotten how to put a tampon in!! I nearly keeled over with glee! And I�ve got cramps! CRAMPS! Sure I�ll be bitching about it soon enough, but for the moment it means that I�m not hormonally fucked up, not infertile, and back in the girls� club.

When I told Matthew, he reacted exactly as he should: a huge congratulations and a promise that we�ll go out to celebrate and only drink red drinks! It�s so fucking easy with him. We hold hands and feed each other and he lets me dive into his armpit when I can�t bear to watch anymore. It�s fun and exciting, half because I know he adores me, half because I do truly adore him, and partly as well, because I know that I�ve only got so much longer before I�ve got to tell him it�s not going to work and want to enjoy every last drop. If I were cavalier, this one at least would be sorted without query or quandary.

It�s all so bloody typical. I want someone who I can�t have, I�m wanted by someone who I should not give myself to, and out of the blue a tripwire catches and I fall down the rabbit hole.

Jesus, this is ghastly. I�m prosing all over the place.

****meep