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fading nostalgia

My left thigh is dotted with little scabs from when Babycat would sit on my lap and something would scare him, sending him leaping off my legs, taking tiny pieces of my skin with him.

I miss New York. I miss my friends there.

Uh, by friends, I don’t just mean the cats. It is kind of sad that I feel I have to clarify, though, heh.

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or kinda like one of those Popples toys

We were still in bed on Easter Sunday morning, legs entangled, both of us with morning breath. (At this point in our relationship, it doesn’t really bother us.) I am asking him if he had any favorite memories from Easter as a little kid. He tells me it was when the Top Gun soundtrack on CD appeared in his Easter basket. He would blast the album on his crappy stereo while riding around on his bike. He thinks he was about twelve years old.

The timing of the receipt of this particular CD makes sense, considering it was the early nineties, though the album came out in 1986. But if you have ever listened to the whole thing, you would be aware that “Danger Zone’’ and “Take My Breath Away” are not the only cheesy gems on the soundtrack. There are quite a few obscure tracks on this thing, and thinking of a little Jeremy rocking out to it brings a smile to my face. (A few years ago, one of my friends burnt a copy of it on CD as a late engagement gift, since Jeremy has no idea where his copy went. Thanks, John!)

So Jeremy grins like a little kid as he goes on about past Easters, telling me what kind of dye they would use on the eggs, and how he would draw lines and dots and squiggles on the shells. He tells me about the shrink wrap things that were used on the eggs as decorations, but I’m not familiar with them. I start kissing his face as he tells me these other memories. He kisses me back, too—lots of little kisses, not like making out or anything—and then he stops the storytelling and laughs, asking, “Hey, what are you doing?”

“Just brushing some stuff off your skin; keep talking!”

“Well, what stuff?”

“The usual. A cat hair, an eyelash—”

“—a Matchbox car? Some green army men? A cow?!” (We are both laughing really hard now.) “An Easter cow! I’m a katamari!”

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i love to talk to my friends on the phone.

oliviaface:

needy:

because we can talk about anything. and we do. we talk about everything. it’s discursive and i enjoy it. we get nostalgic and sad and then we say something and we both laugh about it. we’ll both start talking at the same time, and then we’ll both stop and then we’ll laugh. i love when people laugh. and we’ll talk about things that i don’t like talking about and we’ll talk about things that we haven’t talked about in ages. then there will be some silences when neither of us can think of anything to say and one of us will say something so absurdly stupid. and i won’t want to get off the phone, but i have to. or you’ll have to. then we won’t talk on the phone for another week or month and it will be the same. i love that.

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5th of April, 1997

We said goodbye to our friend and began our two-mile walk home. Jeez, it was so fucking hot outside. The sun beat down on the back of my neck as I was sure it did the same to Dan’s. That didn’t stop us from holding hands. Cos that’s what you were supposed to do with someone of whom you were “going out” with exclusively. There were times when our hands got way too sweaty, and we’d have to wipe our palms on our jeans. He’d laugh, and I’d giggle nervously as he put my hand back in his again.

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home early

Four hours early, to be more specific—which means the husband and I get to enjoy coffee & pajamas and rain pouring down:

That’s falling off the awning in our backyard.