Day de Stormwa
I opened my eyes this morning with a certain level of groggy comprehension that I was listening to a very quiet Evanesence sing Bring Me To Life. My alarm clock was flashing get-up-get-up-get-up and I wondered how late it was, as I never reset it after the power tripped a few days before.
Once my sleep schedule is amok, it's staying that way. Ah well, something to work on. Someday.
Thankfully, it was not even 10 and I was safe to lounge for a while before the arrival of de Storma. This is important, as my need for lounging is always greater than my ability to lounge. Something within the laws of nature, I assume.
So I caught up on some news, spoke with some friends, read a little educational banter, and generally pissed away a good part of my day. When the afternoon began to wane, I called de Stormwa.
De Storma gave me the a-ok to head on over, and after the all important sprucing up, I was out the door. I was out the door looking like a 12 year old in ponytail and pink frilly halter top, but out the door all the same, and that's what really matters here.
The thing about days with my chica is that we can dish about everything and nothing all at once. She can dump the bubbling matter that is her brain right into my lap and with a nod and a shrug she knows I'm right there with her. We're good that way. So these are great days, when I can finally unload all the thoughts that run races 'round my head like rabid robots on parade. These are therapy days, when nothing else matters.
We cruise down to the bookstore and, realizing we've been talking while sitting in a car in a parking lot, decide to go in. Amazingly, they allow talking in these stores, so I assure her we'll be fine. In less than 30 minutes she knows every thought that has been locked up in my muddled mind for the past few weeks.
I love that freedom. It's why we have girlfriends.
In the store we talk about love, and books about love, and love of books, and a lot of other things. Mostly about love. And sex. And books about sex. We talk loudly as if we are the only ones in the store, and the woman in the self-help section looks a little uncomfortable when we discuss a book that was published in the 1950's that had the elite honour of telling wives how to please their men. She left when we opened the Kama Sutra, which I had never actually seen before. But we left the eyebrow-raising customers at peace and moved on to other things ... after I had flipped through the pop-up book about underwear through the ages.
She found postcards for her people and I saw a very tiny book about golf that made me think of Elvis.
And then we went for drinks.
With drinks, there was a waiter that didn't quite know what to do with himself, a very tall glass of shiner bach and an even taller Cosmopolitan. He carded us both and I took pictures of the drink that was bigger than our heads. Dinner came and left and we sat, talking constantly, both of us reluctant to leave.
But of course we had to leave, especially when the waiter that didn't know what to do with himself kept nervously walking back and forth with a confused look on his eager to please face.
At home we got comfy and read our books in easy silence. She fixed my speakers while I finished reading my book. A phone call came that made me extremely happy, and de Stormwa used my sari to hide in. We watched, though not with tremendous enthusiasm, The Animatix.
And then her daughters needed her and she went home.
It will probably be months before we get the time to share a day together again. We both have lives that lead us in every direction but each other's, and that's all right. One of the best things about being this close to people is knowing that no matter what, you're still close.
It's something that, until recently, only we shared; this comfortable pact was ours alone. It's interesting to watch that change. I feel amazingly blessed to now have another person in my life that I share this sort of communication with.
It's miraculous how our lives ebb and flow. I don't think we even know what we're missing until we find it. Not on the deepest level. We just know something isn't there that should be. It's a hollow feeling, a longing for something intangible.
And then suddenly, there it is.
The difficult part then, is in what we do with the gifts we're given.
I plan to relish mine for a long time to come.