Liner Notes

I could write another mushy post, but even I'm getting sick of them. So I present you with Weekend Liner Notes:

• Saturday night we were playing a game of Truth. Christopher, being the boy, kept most of his questions sexual, such as have I ever grasped a girl's breast, have I ever made out with a girl, etc. I asked him how he found me on MySpace, considering I use a nickname on it instead of my real name. He said he searched through all of the Sarahs in the city until he found me, and it took him quite awhile. (Everybody together now: Awww.) As he admitted this, he reached his hand out to me and tickled his fingers in mine. (Swoon.) I asked him why and he said he remembered we used to have a lot of fun together. (Damn straight.)

• In the spirit of Truth, Christopher admitted he had a secret to tell me. He turned my computer monitor towards me and showed me this gorgeous picture of this Broadway actress on his Facebook friends list. He told me that when he was out with his friend who is in the same Broadway production, this woman hit on him and made out with him. While we were dating. He said it happened before things got serious and before we were exclusive, and he feels really guilty about it. I remember that night because he called me when he got in at 2 a.m. and woke me up. And he was right, it was when things were relatively new. I'm strangely okay with it. It was BC—before commitment—and it was just kissing. I actually appreciate his honesty above all else. And if he feels guilty about it, then that means I have his heart which is more important. He assured me if the same situation happened again now, there would be no rogue kissing of ridiculously beautiful women.

• Lastly, Christopher mentioned it was approaching October, therefore Oktoberfest would be ramping up in Helen, the German mountain town we visit. I teased I would go only if we could stop back at Babyland General Hospital to watch another Cabbage Patch birth. He admitted he actually really enjoyed that detour and that he teared up during the birth. I declared that I knew it because he stood up on his toes to watch, but he said it was because the children were so enraptured. I think that speaks a lot about his personality. He projects this tough guy image, but inside he's a big softy who gets choked up at doll births. Like I said, endearing.

The boy in this story died over the weekend. The rain proved to be too much, leaving unfavorable road conditions.

I haven't seen him in years, but when I contacted him a few months ago about finding a job at his company, he was all too happy to help the best he could. That was the kind of person he was. He loved his dog more than I've seen anybody love anything.

It sucks losing someone you laughed with. But then again, I haven't seen him in years. MamaBear, I can't imagine what you and your close-knit circle of friends are going through.

Here's to Phil.

Kiss the rain

It's no secret that our great city has suffered some funky weather happenings in the past year. 2008 was marked with the first ever tornado whipping through buildings and hotels downtown and narrowly missing my apartment building by a couple of streets.

2009 will be punctuated by the floods. Oh lord, the floods. Everything is always wet. My shoes, my hair, even my mail. If it wasn't for acid rain and the threat of sewage in the flood water, I wouldn't have to shower for two weeks now.

Sunday night, Christopher and I were watching TV when the rain started up again. We looked out of my french-door balcony and into the deafening whoosh of water. Christopher reached over and turned on my lamp to counteract the sudden darkness. The Nothing, as I still call it.

"Uh, can I stay here tonight and you just take me home on your way to work tomorrow?" he asked.

Um, a third night in a row with my delicious boyfriend? Let me think about that. "Sure," I shrugged.

"I like thunderstorms," he said.

"Me too."

I went to bed before he did. I'm not sure how much time had past before I had woken up to the scariest lightning storm I can remember. I haven't been scared of thunder and lightning since I was a little girl, but this was too close. The thunder would shake my safe apartment before the lightning was done illuminating the sky.

I laid in bed with the covers pulled up to my ears. With each flash! and crash!, I would jump a little.

My bedroom door creaked open and I peeked over the covers long enough to see Christopher's shadow tip toe in. He crawled on the bed with me and spooned me. I was so grateful to see him.

"You know that power box on the telephone pole outside your balcony?" he whispered in my ear. "The one you always joked about not being comfortable with it so close to your apartment? Lightning just struck it. I was standing on your balcony and all the hair on my body stood up." He shivered.

Another boom that you could feel through the floorboards struck. I flinched. "Are you scared?" he whispered again.

Christopher wrapped his arms around me so tightly that I was enveloped in him. He squeezed and I could feel my elbow tighten as my forearm pressed against my bicep. It was such a sturdy position the way he was holding me. Solid. Safe.

He kissed my back between my shoulder blades. "Don't be scared," he murmured. "I won't let anything bad happen to you."

I sort of got the feeling that he wasn't just talking about the lightning. At least that's what I was hoping.

The next morning the city was under water. Drivers were standing on the roofs of their cars on the downtown connector (by my old apartment—that place seems cursed) and were being rescued by BOATS and HELICOPTERS. A woman died drowning in her van. Roads were washed out. The road that connected my apartment to Christopher's was closed because a tree fell and crushed two cars driving by. Six Flags is still under water.

And I was safe.

Truth Serum

"I don't like your friends," Christopher announced as we left the bar. We had met up with the guys from last week plus one German visiting from out of town.

I was crushed. We had recently talked about his guy friends and he confirmed that all 6 of them had moved out of the state, returning home for family support in a lost economy. I was hoping that he would like my friends and get to actually spend some guy time with them.

"Why?" I asked, trying not to show my disappointment.

"I don't like the way they talked about women," he shrugged.

I stopped. My feet stopped, my head stopped and my heart stopped. It was 2 a.m. and raining and I was getting soaked. Of all the reasons to not like my friends, I wouldn't even rank their leering of women in the top 50. Maybe because I knew it would never involve me or affect me. When the group gets together, it feels like a boy's club. The boy's friendship is first and foremost. Girlfriends are temporary and always on the periphery. Never being a girlfriend, I never noticed.

The fact that Christopher not only noticed, but was turned off by it, made him jump about 3 notches on my post. My last boyfriend thought it was okay to use physical force to get his way. This one didn't even like objectification. I had no idea he felt that way, or was capable of feeling that way.

"I like The German the best," he continued. "Guy is the worst of them; he's a downright asshole."

I pretty much agreed. We walked into the bar next door to the one we just left to have a night cap before going home. Now it would be just the two of us. This place was brightly lit and had a friendly female bartender, a stark contrast from the one we just left. We immediately liked this place better and I noticed it is a part of the chain that I go to with my girlfriends Harvey and Dee. The friends that Christopher did like.

We grabbed two beers and began playing an impromptu game of 10. As in, how much do you like this on a scale of 1 to 10.

"Okay," Christopher starts. "How good looking am I on a scale of 1 to 10?"

I blushed, "Easy!" I opened my mouth to say 10, but then decided not to give it away. "8 and a half... 9!"

"Really?" he asked, pleased.

"What about me?" I asked. If you ask me to rank myself, I would say 4 - 6. I am completely, forgettably average.

He thought about it for a moment, which honestly scared me. "7.9," he decided.

"I'll take it!" I laughed as I pounded my fist on the table.

"When my friend called me about meeting you, he said you were 'alright.'"

"Well, I'd take 'alright' too," I said. I see nothing wrong with alright. More pleasing than not. Mildly attractive. Not to mention his friend met me before I figured out what a flat iron was.

"But your personality—I'd give that a 10," he elaborated.

And for the second time that night, I was too stunned to speak. He didn't have to do that. We weren't at that part of the game yet. Besides, our entire relationship is based off of me saying inappropriate things to inappropriate people at inappropriate times. To illustrate, about an hour beforehand I asked one of my guy friends if he came out of the closet after college. He still maintained he was straight as Christopher laughed so hard he cried. I find that character trait hardly worthy of a 10.

"How much do you like me? 1 to 10," I asked. And that's the question that has been on my mind. Am I special?

Christopher got serious, "You can't ask that."

"Well, I did. And I am," I chirped.

"Nope. Off limits."

"Do you like me this much?" I asked as I squeezed my index finger and thumb close together in front of my eye. "Or do you like me this much?" I arched my back and spread my arms out as wide as I could.

"No," he nervously laughed.

"Yes!"

"Fine, I like you this much," he choked as he extended his arms almost all the way before tucking them back in his lap.

"Could you love me?" I swear, it just came out. I never intended to ask him or anyone this, but I am a 7.9 with a 10 personality and he liked me this much.

"What?" he reeled. Poor Christopher with all my demanding questions.

"I'm not asking if you do, just, in the history of the world," I paused, "Could you?"

"Yes."

Crazy turned Catalyst

Immediately after the re-fella-ing, things changed. Christopher woke up at my apartment Saturday morning and did not go home like he usually does. Instead We watched the Hoarders marathon on A&E. Then we went out to eat wings and watch college football and returned for some Wii bowling. And he spent the night again. We never spend both Friday and Saturday nights together.

He's become present mentally, physically and emotionally. He says "girlfriend" unprovoked. I don't get the slapdown when I reach for his hand anymore. He brings up the future, as in let's do this in November because we'll still be together then.

I think my moment of spazz ended up being a good thing, although I can't articulate why. We were already not seeing other people. We were already officially boyfriend/girlfriend. Maybe we weren't ready for that. It only happened that way because of my rule about sex. Maybe we needed this time to actually acknowledge it and feel comfortable with it.

We moved from seeing each other two days a week to three. It feels like a natural progression. A welcome one. When I introduced him to my friend The German last weekend, I made sure to say my boyfriend Christopher. And he didn't even flinch.

So things are good. They are really good.

The Re-Fella-ing

Last week Christopher was re-united with my college drinking buddies for the first time since 2006. Conor's band was playing at a local brewery in the city and Christopher and I had already started a Friday happy-hour tour of local breweries. It was a chance to cross another one off the list.

When Christopher walked out of his building. I sucked in my breath. He was wearing his white button-down, the one I told him weeks ago I thought made him look sexy as hell, but haven't seen in 3 years. I quickly told myself that this was just coincidence. But in the car he told me he wore it for me. I was surprised because Christopher doesn't give himself away. He keeps his feelings tight, still holding onto his facade. And I still have difficulty deciphering that facade between what he is trying to project and what he is trying to protect.

Christopher with his impeccable memory remembers that Conor is my ex—even though I purposely left that detail out this time around—and on the drive there he whined, "But you had sex with him!"

"It was like 8 years ago! It doesn't count if it was like 8 years ago!" I tried to calm him down. Seriously, there are no residual feelings of any kind from me to Conor. It was so long ago, and I was in such a different place in my life then, that I have a hard time even remembering it. It's like reading it in a book and knowing it happened, but not having any personal feeling or association with it. History.

"Yes, it does!" he argued back.

"We were only together like 5 months at most!" I said, trying a different tactic.

Christopher did some mental calculating from something else I must have said. "That means you had sex with him like 20 times," he huffed.

I'm a little surprised Christopher is coming from this angle. If he knew how much I liked him, it wouldn't be an issue, but then again, if he knew how much I liked him, he might run away scared. Besides, because Christopher never reveals how he feels, I assume it's not much more than casual because that's what he's been projecting.

And on perfect timing, my phone rings and it's Conor. He has one spot left on the band's list and would I like it? I ask if he has room for my "plus one" and Christopher rolls his eyes at the mention of being a plus one. He doesn't know that this is just how we talk to each other. Conor doesn't have room for my now-annoyed plus one and he begins trying to spell my name purposely unsuccessfully. I laugh. Because the only things Conor has going for him these days is his sense of humor and his music.

Christopher asks for a play-by-play of the conversation. He's still apprehensive.

"What if I told you Conor has the smallest penis I've ever seen in my life. Would that make you feel better?" I'm desperate for this issue to go away and for all of us to have a good time.

Christopher visibly brightens. "How small?"

"Like 3-1/2 inches."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. My girlfriend there will be able to verify."

And the matter was (finally) dropped.

***

A perk of being with the band is free entrance to the brewery and all-you-can-drink beer for the two hours the brewery is open. Paying guests are strictly limited to six drinks. This greatly enhanced both of our attitudes; Christopher announced I would be refilling his pint glass too.

We joined the group and to avoid any furthery jealousy, I always included unflattering details about my college buddies to Christopher.

"This is Guy," I would introduce. And as soon as Guy turned away, I'd whisper, "Guy tried to grow dreadlocks one year in school. His hair smelled so bad that we begged him to shower." This seemed to work keeping Christopher calm and okay with the realization that in this circle of friends, I was the only girl.

And maybe this was my bad, but when I introduced Christopher, I merely said, "This is Christopher," and did not explain that he was my boyfriend. I assumed my friends would draw the conclusion.

I had a rationale for doing this. The first was that upon my inquires, Christopher's long-time friends that don't like me don't know that I've returned to his life. So that's one reason I did that. The other was that I've never actually heard him say the word "girlfriend" in reference to me. I think both are valid reasons for me to not run around town and announce it if I'm going to be the only one doing so.

But when I headed to refill my or Christopher's pint glass, my friends obviously got curious enough to ask. And to be honest, I'm not sure what Christopher said. I only heard the tail end of how we met.

Everything was going smoothly until the brewery started ushering us out after the two hours. I was having issues standing still without having to overcorrect for balance; I was drunk. My guy friends decide to head to another bar, one that also served food to soak up some of the alcohol. I asked Christopher if he wanted to go along. I actually didn't care to because I wanted to go home and eat free Chinese and drink free beer.

To my surprise, Christopher wanted to go along. But as we're walking out of the brewery, Christopher whined, "But your friends think I'm your friend."

Without the haze of perversely named beer, I understand what he means by saying this. However, that night I was swimming in alcohol and could only put togther the pieces. And the pieces I knew were Christopher's friends don't know about me, I don't know what he told my guy friends about the nature of our relationship, and he's never said "girlfriend" but did just say "friend."

I whipped around and faced him and spoke assertively, "You need to decide—right now—if you're my friend or my boyfriend."

"What?" he reeled, justifiably alarmed.

I repeated myself.

"What do you--"

I cut him off. "No, you are not going to throw this back on me. You need to make this decision by yourself and you need to make it now."

I realized I just gave Christopher an out and I mentally scolded myself. But I've always been a little uneasy with how it seems to me leading all the time and him following. In my state, I was brave enough to know what exactly the truth is when I'm not leading.

"The first one."

"Whaaaaaat?" I half shrieked.

"What was the first one again?" he asked.

"Friend!"

"I mean, the second one!" he corrected. Jesus, he still couldn't just say it.

"Say it."

"Boyfriend," he quietly obliged.

"Now say 'girlfriend.'" By this time I had lightened up a little. However, I think the boy was still a little bit scared. And to be honest, I was a little surprised that this was the answer Christopher had chosen by himself.

"Girlfriend."

"Now use it in a sentence: 'You are my girlfriend.'" The power was beginning to feel good.

"You are my friend... who's a girl," he laughed.

The tension I created was gone and I broke into a fit of giggles as I punched him in the arm.

"You're my girlfriend!" he laughed as he rubbed his arm.

At the second bar we had a good time, and I think Christopher appreciated hanging out with the guys talking guy stuff. The friends of his that I keep mentioning have actually moved out of the state and only let Christopher know by e-mail. When he told me this, it sounded like the friendship kind of drifted apart when his 'best friend' and my old co-worker who introduced us married.

I don't want to hurt Christopher by writing this, but I get the feeling he doesn't have many guy friends that he sees regularly anymore. I think it's why his father calls him every night to check on him. I knew he's always been a bit of a loner, but it breaks my heart that the friends I knew he once had have moved on. So I think he was happy to spend time in front of people who were other than me.

To prove this, Christopher started doing impressions (he has some good ones) to make the boys laugh. He gave them his nickname even though I don't use it. And then we all made plans next week so Christopher could meet The German, another friend who was flying in town. Some of the boys have also moved into the city; we just haven't met up or realized we have all mostly relocated to the same area. So I ended up pleased, especially with the opportunity that he can make some friends and the fact that I finally got my wish and ended up snuggling with him on the couch.

I'm not sure why I freaked out on him the way I did. I'm choosing to blame the alcohol. But the old insecurities have been creeping back up into me and I've noticed. I'm just glad that Christopher's nature is to remain calm even when I'm acting... well... crazy.

Affection

For the long labor-day weekend, Christopher wanted to go on a road trip and get out of town again. After examining our bank accounts, however, we realized we would not be able to go as far as we wanted. We got up early on Saturday morning and looked at a map of the state and chose the same mountain town we went to years ago.

On the way there, I made the executive decision to stop at BabyLand General Hopsital. It's one of my fondest childhood memories. It hasn't been touched in any way since it's inception in the 1970's and it's cheesey enough to warrant a visit as an adult. Christopher didn't protest, but he did get bored as we waited for the main event which takes place intermittantly. Visitors get to watch new Cabbage Patch dolls being born by the magic crystal tree in the cabbage patch and, obviously, dolls can't be born on a schedule.

The lights dimmed and we grabbed the last two spots against the wall so as to not look interested. Meanwhile the parents and children gathered round with their camcorders and cameras to ooh and ahh. The funniest part was during the actual birth, Christopher stood up on his toes to watch and get a good view. I fell over in giggles. This 35-year-old man got caught up in the fake birth of a doll. Moments like these for me are endearing.

Afterwards we headed into town. We found this Margaritaville-style bar that overlooks the water and we grabbed mugs of beer to watch the people below us tube down the river. Only this part of the river was rather shallow and the tubers carried sticks with them to propel them when they get stuck on the rocks. It was pretty hilarious to watch.

I hadn't tried to hold Christopher's hand again since the slapdown I received at Medieval Times. The couple next to us were acting all lovey dovey and forever in front of us and it brought it back to my mind.

I wiped the foam off the top of my beer mug. "Why aren't you
affectionate?" I asked. I swear, swear, swear I've already had this conversation with him in which he said he was, but I'm beginning to think that conversation was similar to the one about my pink silk scarf—something he said in the beginning so I would like him.

"I already told you," he said, a little exasperated.

"No!" my voice got high pitched. "You said you were!"

"Really?" he said equally as high pitched and surprised. I guess my suspicions were confirmed.

Christopher paused. "It makes me uncomfortable," he eventually answered.

"Well I need it," I announced.

"Why?"

Below us a group of tubers got so frustrated about being stuck on the rocks that they picked up their tubes and walked downstream. I was shocked to see the water was about shin-deep. We laughed and I looked over at Christopher and thought about how attracted I am to him and I thought about the blog and gauged how honest was I really going to be with him.

"It's so comforting. I carry tightness and anxiety in my chest most of the time and physical contact relaxes me."

I took a deep breath and continued. "A few years ago I was getting my hair cut, and the girl accidentally grazed the nape of my neck as she was combing my hair. The touch gave me chills and I couldn't fingure out why until I realized it was the first time I had been touched by another human being in months. And then there I was, sitting in the chair at this expensive salon fighting back tears."

Christopher looked away, "That's weird."

"No, it's not weird," I corrected. "It's sad." I shuffled my plastic mug on the wooden plank table and looked over at him, "Haven't you ever been lonely?"

Christopher locked eyes with me and we entered another one of those unintentional staring contests as he tried to decide how honest to be with me.

"Yes," he answered. He wasn't meek with his revelation.

I was satisfied enough and went back to watching the tubers. Christopher stared straight ahead as he reached his hand behind my back and brushed my hair off the nape of my neck and then went back to drinking his beer.

I smiled.

Scars

It was Swayze's birthday. He chose to spend it at Medieval Times and a buy-one-get-one-free offer made it the perfect opportunity to finally introduce Christopher to my friends.

We had a good afternoon getting ready and pre-gaming the event. Christopher made fun of the scarf I was wearing in the heat of the summer.

"It's August."

"It's silk."

"Scarves are only meant to be worn when it's cold," he argued.

I thumbed the pink silk between my fingers. "I wore it the night I reconnected with you and you said you liked it," I said thoughtfully.

Christopher was silent.

"Were you lying when you said you liked it?" I asked. I remember thinking that Swayze made fun of my scarf, but Christopher had complimented it and it definitely put him up a notch in my book.

Christopher was still silent. So okay, he lied and didn't really like my summertime scarf.

"Why do you wear that thing anyways?" he eventually asked.

"First of all, I have not worn it since June. And I like the color," I justified. "And it covers my scar," I eventually admitted.

For some reason, the surgery scar across my neck that I acquired this year makes me extremely self-conscious. I feel like it greets people when I face them and I see their eyes travel downwards as they stare at it while they talk to me. Especially—especially—now that I've moved to the medical field for work. They know exactly what's wrong with me down to the disease I have just by looking at me, and it makes me feel vulnerable and exposed. And weak for not being perfectly healthy.

"So you wore it when you didn't want me to see your scar, and now you're wearing it again so your friends won't see? Why would you hide it from your friends?" he asked.

Because Harvey and Helen are perfect.

***

As we walked through the parking lot to the castle, I grabbed Christopher's hand. This was a huge moment for me because it was the first time, ever, in the history of the world that we held hands. He said he was an affectionate person when I asked him that one Sunday morning, but it ebbs and flows and it has been seriously ebbing the past few weeks. Christopher didn't protest or flinch and I inwardly cheered over my victory.

We headed to meet my friends, and when I reached for his hand again, Christopher basically slapped it down. He said he had to pee and I couldn't figure out what bearing that had on holding my hand. I summed it up to not being affectionate in front of my friends or people that would actually know him versus strangers.

Of the group that actually paid the hefty sum for Swayze's birthday outing, I only knew Harvey, her husband, and Swayze himself. Harvey courteously extended her hand to Christopher. She was the only one. The guys muttered "hey" with their hands in their pockets.

Afterwards we met up at our local bar and sat outside on the patio bricks. Helen and her boyfriend showed up. I sat next to Helen and listened as she told Harvey stories. Christopher obligingly sat next to me. And no one, no one, spoke to him. The husbands and boyfriends stood a distance away. Harvey and Helen never asked him anything about himself. In reality, they never really addressed me either. I would just jump in their conversations.

My friends aren't usually like this. They are outgoing and friendly and never cool and distant to someone new. I saw a side of Christopher that I never saw before as he sat silently next to me, following me if I went to the bar for another drink. He never tried to speak to them either, but I think it's harder being the outsider. I wondered if he is shy and I just never knew it, but then again all those times I took him up to my college town with me, he never had trouble talking to my guy friends.

I think I may have lost the faith of my friends. I feel like I ruined my character judgment with them through my last relationship. They were probably afraid of Christopher like they were afraid of my ex and it made me so sad.

He's not like that, I wanted to jump up and shout. He's not perfect and he has flaws and I don't know where this is going, but he is a safe person. He will not hit me or hurt me or spit on me and tell me I'm nothing. He is safe.

All of a sudden, I didn't want to be there anymore. My actions caused my friends to not be accepting towards someone who has done nothing wrong to them. Or me. I thought of my scar that I try to hide from them and once again I felt damaged and not up to snuff. I wanted to go home to the safety of my new apartment and cuddle up with my safe man who would finally talk once we were removed from this situation.

I stood up and announced we were leaving. Harvey once again shook Christopher's hand. "It was nice to finally meet you," she said. Only they never really met.

Nothing worth mentioning

My therapist was dressed from head to toe in white linen. "Just trying to get it in one more time before Labor Day," she offered.

We sat down. She was in the corner on her brown microfiber plush chair and I plopped on the floral loveseat. I always sit on the right side of the loveseat because the person before me sits on the left and leaves a warm patch on the cushion that's just a little too close for comfort.

"So what's been going on these last three weeks?" she asked.

"Nothing," I answered. No-thing. For the first time ever, I was dreading my therapy appointment because I just didn't have anything to say. The last few weeks have been like gliding on water.

My step-father has been increasingly spiteful to my mother, but what else is new.

The one in rehab continues to contact me. If not by phone, then by letter. The carrier pigeon is only so far away, I'm guessing. Only I'm handing it well by telling him I don't want any contact with him and then slamming the phone down.

I waited a week before I actually opened his letter. It's nothing worth mentioning. He made some 4 page front and back grandiose apology, apologizing for everything he's ever done to anyone at anytime. He spelled my dog's name wrong. Wanted to know what my family thought about us getting back together (phaw!) and then said if I wasn't crushed by all of this, then I didn't love him like I once said I did. Like I said, nothing worth mentioning.

It took me a month, but I finally wrote him a response. (He had by now found my e-mail address and was e-mailing me, first kindly, then he took a decidedly different tone when I didn't respond). I needed to write him after I found out the information that I did. I needed to release the poison that it made inside me. This, I guess, was the reason I was at therapy today.

Before I read her my letter, my therapist stressed the importance of writing the letter, not sending the letter. She did not think any further contact with him was necessary.

I picked up my yellow legal pad began to read aloud. There were three points I wanted to make: the ways the constant verbal abuse knocked me down, how his lying taught me not to trust myself and was pretty disabling in my life, and I knew his big, dirty secret and at this point, he does not have my forgiveness.

I laid the pad back in my lap. It was a good letter. Silence filled the office.

"Send it," she spoke.

"But you-" I started to protest.

"He needs to read that. It's called an impact letter and he needs to know how his addiction affected others. He's going to be angry and show it to his counselor because he apologized and you wouldn't accept. If he has a good counselor, he'll read it and then make him read out loud in group therapy."

I laughed that she knew him well enough without ever meeting him to know he would be angry. His initial response was always anger and then blaming the other person. She thinks this might be enough to turn his life around. I think, despite knowing he's going to be angry, my therapist is a tad off.

We then switched the topic to Christopher. Going okay. Nothing worth mentioning. We went away together again for Labor Day, back to a place where we already share some memories. I like the do-over feel of the relationship.

It's still super casual, only seeing each other twice a week. Sometimes I get frustrated with that and would like a little more contact, but in the back of my mind, I know that this is a healthy pace for me. It forces me to spend time on myself and I still see my friends with weekly regularity.

Like I said, nothing worth mentioning.