I were but little happy if I could say how much.
Meaning, reason I've been away is that life's been good!
Everything is better than good with the girlfriend. She's amazing, really. We're amazing. In geekery, in silliness, in simple domesticity, in passion, in bliss, once in a while in marvelling at the universe - we coexist. Flawlessly. So well it scares me a little. That when I'm not immediately bewitched, I remember the things we've done, the things we've said while intoxicated with each other, and I panic just the tiniest bit. I love her, but I think I won't be really in love with her until those sober moments don't happen anymore.
They're getting less frequent.
I trust in time - but I need to remember the sober moments during the not-so-sober ones. That's the difficulty. Pretty much all I've done in that regard is say no to outright sex. But we've gone pretty far - farther than the sober moments are comfortable with. But only the sober moments.
It's all just moving so quickly. Even sober, I know I trust her enough to let her see me naked. My inhibition is just that we've only been together three months - my sober brain thought it wanted to wait longer than that before getting naked. Wait more than, what? three weeks? before fully knowing the wonders of breasts. My sober brain thought I would never have sex with my first girlfriend - too many firsts, making too big a piece of my history. Sober brain still lamely puts forth that idea from time to time. The ever-more-dominant side says not yet, not for a while... but someday.
At the moment I'm thinking... Let's not take sides one way or the other. Sober brain is diminishing - don't fight it, don't defend it... just let it die at its own pace.
Even aside from that (which I've made sound a little less positive than it really is - bad at expressing happiness, me), life's been pretty good. Got a job, then got laid off two days before the backpacking trip we'd thought I couldn't go on. Backpacking refreshes the soul (God is just closer in the mountains), and makes me feel a little better about my fitness, too. I may be a skinny, out-of-shape weakling with no calluses or body hair, but I can hike fifty-odd miles with a thirty-odd-pound pack, and I can live without toilet paper for a week ON MY PERIOD what a badass.
Been going to church, too, irregularly. Don't particularly care which church, or whether I "believe." There's just always a lot of love in the room. People loving God, God loving people, people loving people. Feels right.
As to the old question of housing, I ended up taking a third option. Or, well, what, a fifth option? I vaguely remember outlining Plans A through D or E or somesuch - and ended up taking plan, I don't know, Psi, some letter out of a different alphabet. Plan Psi is thus: Officially live at my mom's house. Spend probably less time there than at the girlfriend's apartment on campus, or maybe occasionally at Regi's. Also possibly set up camp in one of the abandoned houses in the hills behind the school. In the wildest of fantasies, this goes as far as "stealing a house." I've been (rather feebly) restoring one - this beautiful architectural experiment built in the 1970s, totally trashed... and I'd been vaguely planning to homestead that one, but my restoration efforts were frustratingly less fruitful than I'd hoped, and I discovered its neighbor, less beautiful but much more freshly abandoned and in far better condition. So maybe to inhabit the more habitable house while continuing the cleanup of the more beautiful one...
Or maybe not to do anything stupid like stealing a house. 'Cause I'm chicken.
...Well, that's it for now... maybe. Good night, Oasis.