how hard we love

I love living with a musician. I love watching him, like this. Peering from around the wing of the couch as he sits at his keyboard playing silence and hollow plonks, the secret music feeds into headphones and he's inside himself and in front of me at once. Tonight, he is wearing his favourite brown sweater and blue jeans. Mismatched socks ("there's another pair just like this in the drawer"). Newly acquired (read: required. The week before his 30th birthday, natch) spectacles are slipping south as he bends to make a note on the chart papers in front of him. He looks handsome and noble.

We both hammer away at our keys. I solve problems and ease minds, he poses questions in sonata form. Sometimes I try to type rhythmically along with him and we sound good together.

unstoppable force/immovable object

So...... Our parents are meeting tonight for the first time. "Our" being Avi and My. Being that we're engaged and have been for over a year, dating for three before that.. Being that our parents haven't been in the same room together and have had very little communication in that time... Yeah, so, a bit tense. This is normal right? I just want everyone (myself included) to feel connected and relaxed and to enjoy one another's company. No pressure, right? Will I drink myself confidant and stray into sloppy territory? Will everyone stare at their menus too long? Awkward silences? Dads keeping quiet, moms chatting nervously? This event cannot possibly go worse than it's gone in my head a million times over.

why do today what you could put off till tomorrow?

Between the crippling disease of procrastination and the much less serious business of consuming far too much television, Starbucks and marijuana, I've been.. Adrift. With my intent paving the road to hell, I'd better make good on this effort before we reach the on-ramp... .

I'm a blog slut.....

I first blogged here.

And then here.

And then finally here.