and then it was monday

After finally boarding a delayed plane at the Providence Airport this afternoon, stopping for a three minute dash from gate to gate at BWI, and then boarding the plane to Pittsburgh just in time, the big question was--would our luggage make it?

So it was with some relief that I saw this.

Can you guess which one is mine?

And like a naive fool who simply trusts too much in spring and the warmth that should bring, I left my winter coat and other such wraps at home, discarding them in anticipation of days that look something like this.
Yeah, I realize we are in PA. And, although I grew up in this state, at dinner tonight I still asked my friend Brandon if Pittsburgh is on the water. Sometimes I need to just think a few seconds more before I actually let a question transfer from thought to words.

Or sometimes I just need to learn geography.

Anyway, I fully realize that there are no bordering oceans to this grand state, as pictured above, but still I dream of blue skies and days that call for nothing so much as tank tops and shorts. Maybe jeans--but just for their fashion, rather than their warmth.

And instead, I landed early this evening to a day that looked a lot closer to this.
Luckily the theater is literally right around the corner from our hotel. And if this weather persists, I can guarantee that I will be walking briskly. Maybe even running. Seriously, my coat is not warm.

But I don't care about coats or the lack thereof so much. I can deal with the cold, it won't last forever and layering is totally in. What is hard to deal with is this feeling of just totally, always, constantly, sometimes even hopelessly missing this guy. Even when I'm mad at him.
It's funny, he has a beard now. Well, an on-and-off one, at least. I am not altogether sure if he does have a beard at this exact moment or not, to be honest. He can basically not have a beard on Monday and have one by Tuesday if he so desires and that is absolutely a skill of which I will never be jealous.

But that's not the funny part.

What's funny is that the first time I ever laid eyes on him he definitely had a beard. And that was that. I didn't give him one more look--or thought--because in my mind, a guy should not have a beard unless he is forty or wants to appear forty or owns forty cats or is aspiring to have forty wives, Big Love style.

Just kidding about the cats and the wives.

Anyway.

My brother would talk him up to me, but I would not be able to get past that darned beard. I just wasn't so interested. Until...

I turned around in church one day and was surprised by this handsome young man, standing closer to me than I had anticipated. And I didn't mind the proximity one bit. I just stood and stared for a second, then two, then three; I stared at this newly clean-shaven guy in a crisp white button up shirt who was meeting my gaze with a kind of directness that I could appreciate.

Especially since it was coming from someone who had finally turned my head.

I simply said hi and he responded with that same stupidly short word that started something eternal, something that encompasses our lives.

So last night, I was writhing under the influence of a horrible headache and sent him this text at 3:50 am,

I miss you. My head hurts so bad that

it's making my stomach nauseous. I wish

we didn't feel so distant. Life feels kind of sad

now. I wish I had medicine. For everything.

The truth is that life feels better today. Much better. It usually does once you get past the 3:50-am-writhing-in-pain-missing-your-fave-someone-and-generally-just-doubting-your-life stage of the night. And thankfully, that stage doesn't come upon me often.

But when it does, I know that it will pass.

That it will give way to a clearheadedness not unlike clairvoyance. And though I might not see the evidence of what I hope for at the moment, my hope still grows, even strengthens, because every moment that passes without the evidence of what I hope for, brings me closer to it.

May it be so.

Oh, and p.s. I have since changed my stance on beards for men under forty; I no longer have a problem with them.