Forgive me, whatever audience I might have left; I have been remiss in my blogging but you know how this works: the more time you spend actually doing things the less time you have to tell people about it. And things have been pretty hectic lately.
I am engaged now, to Arlene Chan. She is beautiful, frighteningly smart and gifted along more axes than I can number, and she has agreed to spend the rest of her life with me. Her part in this I can only explain as love because it not a rational decision; I think she was a fool to agree and this leaves me deeply reassured. I am confident that she could do better.
For my own part the pathology is straightforward, simple: when I am with her I am at ease, relaxed. I am not angry, if you can believe that. When she smiles my spirits are lifted, and when she cries it destroys me. I hold her and the dark vicious things that shamble easily out of my subconcious stay in the shadows, the cold reflexes that are so hard to keep leashed don’t offer up so much as a twitch. When I am with her, I don’t want to hurt anybody. I am used to being alone, and I still miss her when she’s not there. And boy, does she ever look good in a cocktail dress.
She worries about whether I’m happy, and some part of me that I am not proud of just laughs and laughs and mutters, what a sucker; she could garotte me with my own entrails and I would sit there and smile, happy to have her hands on me, to smell her skin. And she worries about making me happy.
She is kind and smart and gentle and driven and beautiful, she is so much the opposite of me that I might as well be made of anti-particles, and yet somehow here we are. And yes, I am happy. You’re damn right I’m happy.