Bring It On Home To Me

There was a load of snow indiscriminately sent to shatter hopes of spring yesterday.

I had clawed myself out of the depression of winter. I had survived, and managed to retain tiny shards of hope, and joy. I was battered, indeed, by the long, cold, friendless hours of winter, but I clung to the edge and had glimpsed the spring.

In a steady flow came inch after inch yesterday and it peeled me from where I was hanging and slid me back down the embankment of depression, and all the fun stuff that goes with it.

This must be melted by Friday.

Tylere called me last night, around nine thirty, and we talked until twelve.

That was as late as I could possibly talk because I had to be out of bed and ready at six thirty today, instead of seven.

After the children were off to school I slept until noon (now).

Sleep is the only way I can make the snow go away, and make time go by without having to live through it.

The complete transcript of our conversation last night is enscribed on my heart, of all places, so I can't even really give the short version. But I felt so important to him last night. So loved.

There were several times when he said things and my response was, "there are no two ways to interprate that; I think he loves me."

He tried to patch up the comment from last week about finding a girl who thought like I do. After Maggie gave him hell for saying it.

Then he told me that sometimes he's wrong.

You poor unfortunate people don't know Tylere, and you don't know how right he is all the time. All the time. I think I might be the only person he's ever said that to, actually.

Anyway... none of this is making sense because I'm just not willing to go into a lot of detail. Just know I felt completely comforted, and though I called him a "fucking asshole" once I didn't really mean it at all last night.

I just said it because he was being self-deprecating in hopes I would reply something like, "no one is more important than you." He fishes for compliments from me, even though I lavish him with them, and sometimes it makes me feel like it's a big joke.

"You're the only person who's ever called me that," he credited me. "And you do it with some regularity."

If he'd accept me I'd never do again for the rest of my life.

Perhaps it will make it easier: this new-found love for me that he has. It's soothing, I confess.

Perhaps the evolution is in its process, and by 2005 he'll fall in love with me.

I'm sorry if you all want to claw your eyes out after reading this, but this entry can be just for me if you don't like it.