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rinueSpent six hours today talking to Ciro. Not as good as having him here in person, but wonderful after weeks of not hearing his voice. I laughed more than I have in a while. Since the microphone on the computer in Boston is so soft, and the road noise by the window so loud, I rest my head on the computer to hear; it's not totally unlike pillow talk if you think of the laptop's wrist rest as a pillow.
I haven't really left my room today. I'm a little light headed from not eating, although I managed a bit of cheese and a cold boiled potato about the size of my fist. I'm tired; I'll sleep once I'm done writing.
It looks like I'll definitely stay at LFS (of which I am quite fond), and like we'll wait the six months for Ciro's Italian passport. No word yet whether he'll spend the six months in Dallas or in Boston; if Boston, I'll defer a term to spend the time in Boston. I'm fine with either eventuality, and can live with an even longer separation if necessary. As far as my preference, I am uncertain; either course has advantages. For him, the decision is more dire, the wait more unstable - a choice between two things he doesn't want. Better to have waited the six months here in London, on a tourist visa - legal, but seemingly impossible. (I suppose we could appeal, but am too tired to try.)
Even in the middle of all this, I am oddly happy. I got to talk to Ciro; he loves me. My mind is more at rest than it's been in ages. This will be a difficult night for him; last night he was too exhausted for the difficulty to hit. Yet my tired brain can't focus on his absence, or his awkward position; just my continuing admiration, my gratitude, my awe at the ways we are similar and the ways we are different - the similarities that line us up, and the way the differences interlock.
I haven't really left my room today. I'm a little light headed from not eating, although I managed a bit of cheese and a cold boiled potato about the size of my fist. I'm tired; I'll sleep once I'm done writing.
It looks like I'll definitely stay at LFS (of which I am quite fond), and like we'll wait the six months for Ciro's Italian passport. No word yet whether he'll spend the six months in Dallas or in Boston; if Boston, I'll defer a term to spend the time in Boston. I'm fine with either eventuality, and can live with an even longer separation if necessary. As far as my preference, I am uncertain; either course has advantages. For him, the decision is more dire, the wait more unstable - a choice between two things he doesn't want. Better to have waited the six months here in London, on a tourist visa - legal, but seemingly impossible. (I suppose we could appeal, but am too tired to try.)
Even in the middle of all this, I am oddly happy. I got to talk to Ciro; he loves me. My mind is more at rest than it's been in ages. This will be a difficult night for him; last night he was too exhausted for the difficulty to hit. Yet my tired brain can't focus on his absence, or his awkward position; just my continuing admiration, my gratitude, my awe at the ways we are similar and the ways we are different - the similarities that line us up, and the way the differences interlock.
