Tag Archives: Relationships

Aching

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It’s a long weekend here.  And it’s been a great weekend for me.  Well, for me and F, really.  We’ve spent time with friends but also a lot of time together.  In fact, as you can tell by my lack of posting, most of our time has been together.  Only today we both need to catch up on things and, so, this morning, after breakfast, he went back to his house and I should, now, be cleaning and washing and sorting out my clothes and taking the dogs for a walk……all before he comes back later for us to spend some more time together.

And still,  nearly two months later, I can’t get enough of him.  Even this point, although it allows me to get some stuff done (including this post), I wish he were here.

And even the stuff that we have done this weekend, I cannot remember.  I remember that Saturday I wanted to post some stuff about some funny things that happened on Friday, but that I have now forgotten.  It has all merged into a blur that is both long and short, as good times are supposed to be.  But, perhaps, if I go backwards, I will remember more……

Last night we went to Al&R’s place for dinner.  There were 8 of us in total.  After dinner we played parlour games – well charades based on films.  They gave me two ‘easy’ ones to do as, obviously, all the films were in Italian and some were Italian or other foreign films that I would not know.  One was Gli Abbracci Spezzati – Broken Embraces, more of which later.  To be honest they were very kind as it was easy and we had already talked about it over dinner.

And, then, we had to do a turn – singing, dancing or acting.  This kind of stuff has always scared the shit out of me.  I have acted on stage quite a few times and, from what people have said over the years, I have a great voice for doing monologues and the like, but, as always in these situations, I remember nothing; can think of nothing to do.

In the end I sang to a version of Anyone Who had A Heart – and, whether through kindness or not (but probably kindness), came joint first (everyone having given points out of 10 for the performance).  I think F was proud of me.  He seems to treat me as if I am something very special sometimes, especially with his friends.  And for that, amongst many other reasons, I love him.

Before that we had been to order furniture for him and a wardrobe for me.  The problem was that some of the furniture for him won’t be delivered until late January, when he is in his busy period for work, working 14-hour days with, maybe, only one day off per week.  Still, I have offered to take time off work and be there for the delivery and assembly of said furniture.

Even if I would much rather we were going to be looking at something together, to live together, the new place is only 5 minutes from my place and, so, is a great improvement on the existing situation.  But now it seems likely that he won’t be able to move there before Christmas and S returns early in the New Year.  Obviously he knows that he can stay with me and it may yet happen and for me that would absolutely perfect – even if it is only for a few weeks.  A trial period of living together would be just what we needed I think.  Let’s see what happens.

Sunday was a quiet day of doing nothing.  Saturday night was at his place and so Sunday was breakfast at the bakery/café as normal.  Then doing very little, except I did take the dogs out for a long walk – although had no time for anything else.  And then we went to see Gli Abbracci Spezzati.  A Spanish film from Pedro Almadòvar.  One that F wanted to see, particularly.  He had avoided seeing it because of me and he worries that I won’t understand which is sweet and thoughtful.  I keep telling him not to worry and that he should just go ahead and I will be fine.  Which I was.  F2 (A’s girlfriend) came with us and we met up with A afterwards and went for a pizza.  It was a lovely evening and what followed that was passionate and intense and truly wonderful.

And, Saturday, was just at home all day and into the evening.  A day of being together.  And he made some sort of courgette quiche thing for me and I made trifle for him.  And we had wine and sat and talked and just ‘were’.

And Friday night, too, after work.  And that’s when some funny things happened and were said that I was going to blog about but now I have forgotten.

And we have talked.  We talked about a friend of mine who cannot trust the man she loved – which led on to the talk about trust in general and he said that you shouldn’t (couldn’t?) trust anyone.  And later yesterday I told him that, whether it was right or wrong, I trusted him, completely because that is the way I am and because I can’t have a relationship where I don’t trust the man I’m with and he laughed and said that when he had said that you shouldn’t trust anyone, that didn’t include him.  And I knew that anyway.

And we talked about sex.  And how it all changed for him last summer and it became something less important and, almost, boring.  And I understood although I explained that he makes me more like some sort of animal and that I can’t get enough of him, in any way, including sex and I explained why I got out of bed at 6.30 a.m. on Monday morning – because I knew that I would be unable to leave him alone and that it would annoy him and I got out and had a cigarette and played some games on my phone.

And he turns me on in ways that I cannot explain because there are some things that turn me on and yet I had always thought they wouldn’t.

Now, I write this as I clean the flat for he decided to come back here tonight.  His decision completely.  I had assumed (and had said so) that I would be at his place, tomorrow being work and everything.  But he decided he would come here.  And so, with the place nearly as clean as I can get it and with some clothes to sort out, I look forward to seeing him again.

>No, I ache to see him again, even if it was only a few hours since I last saw him.

The story that cannot be shared

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I really don’t know how to explain this but I’m going to try.

Last night we went to a concert given by Ornella Vanone.  The problem is that, if you’re not Italian or lived here for a long time, you may not even know who she is.  Until a few weeks ago, I certainly didn’t.

She is, I understand, in her mid-seventies.  She has a good voice and sings love songs that, according to FfI are almost all about saying goodbye to a love and saying that she’ll wait for them to return.  All heart-rending stuff.

It was a good concert.  My first time at Blue Note which, as it is a jazz club, I had thought would be rather sleazy.  As it turned out it was rather nice.  Almost quite posh.

Ornella is Italian (from Milan, I think) and sings with a slightly husky voice.  A nice voice.  Not really anything that special but nice.  Of course, I don’t understand the words and, when she’s speaking, either because she’s old, or drunk (someone said she drinks a lot) or just because she’s playing to a Milan audience, her Italian is difficult to understand for me and she speaks very fast.  OK so I get some of it but not really enough.

F keeps asking if I understand.  I don’t want him to translate everything, not least because it will get so annoying for him.

But, with some songs, he goes really quiet, whilst on the other side of me, FfI is wiping away tears.  And this is the bit I want to try and explain.

Even if I could understand her words, her songs to their fullest, I’m not sure I would be so moved by them.  There’s a history that I cannot share.  Cannot even hope to share.  There’s a story behind all these songs, a story that’s different for everyone.  But, of course, that’s normal.

What I’m trying to explain (badly) is that, whereas, if I was with people from the UK or, even the USA, there would be a common, shared history to the singer.  I mean, if I was in the UK, and with someone from the UK and we were to watch someone like, say, Shirley Bassey, then, even if she’s not my favourite singer, we would all know something about her, about her history in the country, about some of her hits, about her love-life or private life or things like that.  It makes her a ‘real’ person and a person who can be ‘shared’ by you and those around you.

Whereas, here, I could not share it, could not be part of it.  I wanted to be part of it but, unless I were to read all about her, study her and her music, put each song into the setting of the time, I cannot be a part of this.  It is a history beyond my capability to perceive, to live, to have.

And to me this was striking and difficult to determine how I should feel about it.  On the one hand, it’s not important, of course.  On the other, it is a part of F that I cannot share.  I don’t mean the past, for, of course, the past is gone and neither of us can share our pasts with each other; only recount stories but never relive them.  No, this is also the future.  For the future or (in the case of the concert) the present, has a part of the past that is beyond either of us to share with each other.

We (F & I) are supposed to be going to see Joan Armatrading next year.  Being my favourite singer, it is important to me.  Her songs hold special meaning for me.  I know most of the words to the songs; can sing them with correct inflection, breathing, etc.  But, if we go, F, although with me, cannot be with me during certain songs.  Cannot be in my head or fully understand nor appreciate the meaning and the subtlety of each word.

It was a good concert.  Probably, if I had grown up knowing her, her songs, the history, I would have said ‘great’.  But I cannot say that.  I don’t know if it was great.  Was she always like this or was this substandard?  How the hell would I know?

What I do know is that it was good and that, being with F was all that really mattered.  As he held my hand or kissed me or lay (just for a moment) his head on my shoulder, it felt good and right and perfect.  And all I wanted to do was hug him whilst this (to my perception) slightly mad (and mad-looking) old lady, moved around the stage, drunkenly or unsteadily or maybe she’s always like this, singing songs about love or about the end of love, with a voice that reminded me of how, probably, Shirley Bassey is, now, in concert.

And, in my heart, so full of love for F, there was an ache for the ‘missing’ part; the part of me that is outside his experience and a part of him outside mine; a part that cannot be shared for, in a final way, we are, in fact, from a different culture, with a different history and in spite of anything that we may build together, a future of shared experiences, loves, hates, friends and enemies, there will always be this ‘missing’ history, the story that cannot be shared.

Just being together

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Sometimes, these things just don’t work out.

The rain was constant, from last night, about half past 10 until now.  Constant and persistent.  The dogs don’t really like it, hugging the walls of the buildings in order to stay out of it as much as possible.  This was about 10.30 last night.  It is much colder too although above freezing.

I took the dogs back and, as we had agreed earlier, made my way to the shop to collect the keys to his flat.  The plan being, that when he finished his work, he would come home, telephone me and I would let him in at the gate.  I looked forward to it.  Both being in his home (which is a little warmer than mine) and the idea of him coming later, me, probably asleep by then, but warm and someone that he could snuggle up to.

I was later than I had intended and not having had the couple of hours sleep I had intended either.  N had Skyped me to tell me off for not telling her about V and then L had asked about some court case, which I couldn’t remember anything about, so I rang V and we were on the phone for a bit.  And so I was late.  But, at least, I was going and we would be together, even if asleep, for some time; some time being better than no time.

To get to the shop, though, from my place is not straight forward.  There’s no easy way which doesn’t involve quite a bit of walking or waiting for connecting trams or metros.  The easiest involves a good walk from my place to the metro at Porta Venezia and then one stop down, walking from Palestro to the shop.  And, it being a miserable night, it was not so pleasant, that tempered by the fact that I would see him again and that I would be there when he got home.

I collect the keys.  He stops work for a cigarette with me.  I am happy to see him and happier that I will be in his flat when he gets home.

I walk back to Palestro station and catch the metro up to his place.  I let myself in.  He had left the heating on and the place is warm and lovely.  I do all the things as if he was there.  I make myself coffee, sit and do some Facebook and Farmville stuff and then go to bed.  But, by now it’s gone midnight.  Not quite as early as I had planned.

And I can’t sleep.  Not because I’m uncomfortable but merely in anticipation of his arrival.  As I’ve said before, I really hate the fact that I have to sleep at all, missing precious moments with him.  At one point I look at the clock on my phone which says it is nearly one.  Damn.

______________________________________________________________________________

The alarm goes off.  I realise that he isn’t home.  I feel gutted for him as he looked tired when I saw him but now he has had no sleep.  I get up and start putting my clothes on.  He calls.  He is sorry for me that, in the end, I had to spend the night alone. We are sorry for each other.

I need to get his keys back to him.  I think how much better it would have been for me to have stayed at my home.  But, if he had have come back during the night, it would have been so worth it.

I clean the place up and try to make it as if I have never been there.  Well, I try, anyway.

I go home.  Walking the familiar streets, still everything wet and more wet being laid on the first lot of wet.  I get home.  I take out the dogs.  I sit and have coffee for a few minutes and then shower.  I had hoped to have left before 7.  As it is, it’s a quarter past – the time I should be leaving for work.  I briefly think about taking the car – but I don’t know the one-way system there so well and, then, I would have to find somewhere to park.

I take the metro.  This is going to take more than half an hour which means I shall be at least half an hour late for work.  Plus, I am tired.  It is still raining.

The workmen have arrived to remove the scaffolding and to put up the tree.  F tells me that he still has some things to do once the workmen have gone.  After that he will go home and bed.  I wish I could be there when he gets home, even if he is so tired he would just be going to sleep.  At least he would be going to sleep in my arms!

And, even if he has been up all night, he looks so good and I look at him and love him more.  I give him the keys and we kiss on the cheeks, the closest we can do to the real thing.  Ah, well, there’s always tonight, after the concert.

I tell him that it all looks beautiful.  I mean him, of course, too but can’t say that; I don’t know who speaks English there, it not really being a secret language here.

I leave, saying I would only ring/text him if he rings/texts me, as then I will know he’s awake.  He says that, if he hasn’t called me or texted by 6, I should ring him to wake him anyway.

I leave for the metro and the car, parked back near home.  I am late for work.  Or, rather, later than I would like to be.  And tired.  I have the concert to look forward to tonight but, even better than that, is being with F and then spending tonight together and waking up tomorrow and having breakfast, maybe and just being together!

Needy or not?

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‘I like you a lot’ he writes, after he explained that he is not good with words.  OK, fair enough.  He doesn’t want to wear out the three words and, anyway, actions speak louder than words, as we all know.

I missed him last night, even if I did get to bed at 2 a.m. and went straight to sleep (aided by a few glasses of wine).  Still, it would have been nice to have been able to curl up to him and kiss him, softly and tenderly.

Perhaps, even if he were to see this blog, it would hold little interest for him.  His thing is music.  Mine is words and, more often than not, written words rather than spoken words.  We kind of compliment each other, which is good and as it should be.

And today he will be so busy, working into the night, probably.  And so, it is likely that we won’t be together tonight either although I hope we shall be.

If necessary, I will go to his place (providing I have had some sleep first).

In the meantime, we text and chat and call.  We both have jobs that we take seriously (even if I don’t have so much to do most of the time) and we’re both good at what we do, even if he enjoys his more than I enjoy mine.

And, today, I have been busy with clients again.  We spoke as they left.  He is preparing stuff but won’t start the main work until about 7 p.m.  He doesn’t know what time he will finish.  I said that I was going to get a couple of hours sleep and then I could come to his place, if he would like, as long as it wasn’t 2 in the morning or something.

He then suggested that, if I would like, I could come to where he is working and get the keys to his flat, go there and then he could come later….if necessary, I could even go to bed and he would call me when he arrived home so that I could let him in.

He wants this as much as I do.  I actually said that it’s if he wants, as well, as it takes two of us.  But he doesn’t want to appear so needy, even if he is needy.

He makes me smile.  I will call him later, after I have slept.

And, so, I replied to his text of liking me with ‘I guessed that as actions speak louder than words’.  And then reminded him of what he had said (about everyone looking for the same thing) and said that maybe, hopefully, we had both found it!

He laughed (in text form).  And then the call later with the suggestion of me going round, before he gets home.  The same as I wanted last night, the same as he wants tonight.  And, once again, I am happy.

>At least, when he has done this week, he will be less busy with work and can concentrate on his flat and painting and decorating and buying the furniture, etc.

And he should start to relax a bit and things should become easier.

Time, Actions, Perceptions

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[Written yesterday, 2nd December]

He said, last night, as we were sitting at the kitchen table, that my flat was a very nice flat.  I wondered, at the time, if he was thinking about, maybe, moving in……..eventually, obviously.

Later, when we took the dogs for a walk, he was saying about painting the flat he’s moving into and I said that I wished I could paint because then I would paint mine.  He offered that, when he had finished his flat, he would come and we could paint mine.

He seems more at home there now, but changes have to be made.

I awoke sometime after midnight.  He was awake.  He couldn’t sleep.  I asked him why and he said it was because of all the things he had to do, going round and round in his head.  It should be a bit better after this week, I hope.

Tonight we won’t see each other and worse, won’t be sleeping together – even if we shall both be in Milan.  I will miss him like crazy but the logistics are too difficult since I don’t know what time I shall be home (we have a meal with colleagues from work) and I shall have to take the boys out when I get back.  It would be impractical to go to his flat afterwards, although my heart will ache as I pass his flat on my way back to mine, I am sure.

I think he is worried that his (new) flat is too small.  Perhaps he was looking at mine as a possible alternative?  Perhaps, if he does come and decorate, he will feel much better about possibly being there more often?  Or, even, permanently.

But I haven’t offered again.  He knows the offer stands.  He knows what I want or, rather, what I would like to happen.  It will happen or it won’t or it will but later.  In the meantime, I give positive signals and make positive noises about the new flat, even if I haven’t seen it.  It will still be one of ‘our homes’ in my head whereas his current place was shared between him and S and, anyway, belongs to S, which is why he’s moving.

Tomorrow night he may be working late.  Will, probably, be working late.  Late into the night.  So it may be two nights in a row that we shan’t see each other.  Maybe.  But, if he wants to come back to mine after work, then that is fine because I can always get up and let him in, should I be asleep.  If not, then it’s unlikely that I shall see him as I don’t want to be traipsing up there at near midnight to go to sleep and be getting up at 5.45 a.m!

But, whether we’re at his place or mine, it’s an easy relationship (apart from, maybe, my obsession); the rules being clearly defined (like no smoking in the bedroom – all due to a scare he had a few years back – which I respect, however hard it may be – and it’s not so hard, really).  I love the fact that, like V & Ig (or like V says he and Ig are), we agree on so many fundamental things.

A said that he seemed honest.  And I think he is.  Of course, all relationships are difficult in that the honesty of the other person has to be proved………but I work on the basis that you start off as honest or, at least, believing the other person to be honest.

It’s only later that it may change.  It’s time, actions and perceptions that may change your ideas on that.

Keeping it under control.

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I don’t really know how to tell you this.  I am, in a way, obsessed.

Well, I’m not even sure it’s ‘in a way’ but rather that it is an obsession.  It’s not the same as the washing my hands thing, which I do a number of times a day, even for no real reason, other than I feel I should, like now that I’ve written this, I feel that my hands are incredibly dirty.  No, this one is based on something real, I think.

I didn’t come from a demonstrative family.  I mean, obviously, we had cuddles as kids but my parents weren’t ones for holding hands with each other or, really, touching in any way.

And, so, whether because of them or something else, I don’t like to touch people.  I used to hate having my haircut for a similar reason.  Someone I didn’t know was touching me.  It was almost sexual, even if it really was not.

So, I don’t do the big hug thing, even with Best Mate – and yet we do, sometimes – and I want to – it’s just that I feel so self-conscious about it.  And, when it comes to men, well, this I find more difficult.  I do kiss men on the cheek here, as it is the norm but it still makes me feel uncomfortable – unless they’re gay, when it’s, sort of, OK – more like kissing my girl friends, really.

So, the obsession.  It’s not about NOT touching people but rather that, with my partner, I feel the NEED to touch him.  OK, you may say, nothing wrong with that.  And, indeed, were that all, then that would be fine.  The problem is that I want to touch him ALL THE TIME!  And, should you be thinking that I am, in some way, exaggerating this, I can assure you, I am not.

I realise that this will wear off in time, although I still touched V quite a lot, even towards the end.  In fact, without big arguments, it was one of the ways he used to be able to register his anger at me – but moving away from me and, therefore not allow the ‘touching thing’ to occur.

It’s almost as if, being starved of human contact, I do all my touching to the one person, in this case F.  And, in itself, this is not the problem.  Although, it is the problem of course.  Let’s take the situations:

1.  In bed.  He doesn’t like to be hot.  He has warned me that we simply cannot touch in summer and, more or less, I am the same.  I burn up (in all seasons) and may be a nice radiator/hot water bottle in winter but in summer it is unbearable.  Unfortunately, he didn’t realise this was the case in winter also.  So, touching him becomes more of a problem after a while.
2.  In general.  Since I won’t leave him alone, it becomes ticklish or uncomfortable for him.  And so he tells me to stop.  And I do…for a while.  And then, because I am not thinking, I find I am doing it again!
3.  And this leads to……  well, sex.  Which is neither always necessary nor welcome, of course.  I mean, it doesn’t always lead to sex.  It can’t as it’s not really physically possible – not that many times, anyway :-)

So, the other night I realised that I have to stop it before it just becomes very annoying for him.  Last night, with much concentration, I did manage to stop it.  We lay on the bed watching television (Le Vite degli Altri – The Lives of Others – great film) and I didn’t touch him.  He held my hand and lay on my chest, but if he turned away or whatever, I didn’t automatically reach out for him, nor rub his belly or chest, nor legs, nor anything.

But it is some kind of obsession.  As soon as he is in the same room as I am I want to touch him, put my arms around him, etc.  And it needs to stop or, at least, be kept under some sort of control!

The Moment will last

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The 3 words were spoken and it took me a moment to register them.

I was surprised and delighted.  It was unexpected.  It was almost in passing, hence the fact that it took me a second or two.  I said that it was the first time but, apparently not.  He insisted that he had already said them a couple of weeks ago.  I don’t remember and I thought I would have remembered.  Maybe I was asleep?

It doesn’t matter anyhow.  They’ve been said now.  It means he feels comfortable with the ‘us’ that is.

This evening he returns to Milan.  I want to be with him.  I want to hold him and smother him in kisses.  The ‘missing’ of him becomes greater, not lessened by availability nor by the act of living and the mundane.  Obviously, this won’t continue for ever, I know, but I will enjoy it (and suffer it) whilst it lasts and be grateful for it and counting my blessings and realising that I am, as always, it seems, an extremely fortunate (or lucky) person for whom life has a way of working things out.

And it makes me think of the first meeting; how I was convinced that nothing would happen but that he was, in fact, the person from the chat, exactly, and that all the time I was searching and looking and going out with others, he was in my mind as ‘THE GUY’, even if I thought he was unobtainable.

And I think that life is full of strange twists and turns and surprises and, yet, is it true?  Has everything been leading to this moment, the ‘moment’ that occurred and was so fleeting but makes me happy and content and relaxed and fills me with so much joy, so much love, just …….. so much.

A moment is all it was

Yet, the moment will last.

The Moment

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We were outside for a cigarette.  R asked me, again, how it was going with F.  I said it was going very well and that he makes me very happy and that my feelings for him are growing stronger and that when I’m not with him I miss him a lot.  I added that we were still going slowly because that is what F wanted.

‘But you see each other every day!’, he exclaimed.  I grinned and affirmed this and said that I didn’t push but, mostly, most nights, we were together.  Unless he was away, of course.

R said that this was what F had been looking for for the last five years and I told him that I had been looking for it too.

Then, when we were back at the table, he and Al, his partner, started to give F a bit of a hard time about how he hadn’t declared to the world that I was his boyfriend, etc.  F did the pursing of the lips, the ‘Paddington Bear’ stare and stuff but he wasn’t really annoyed.

They spoke a lot more in English.  It’s for me, I know, to make me feel included as part of their friendship with F.  They seem to want it to work out between us.  I guess I have the ‘seal of approval’, which is nice.

And, later, I could tell that their words had had some effect.  He was more loving, even, than normal.  I said that I felt very lucky to have found him.  He hugged me and kissed me harder.  I think we are a little bit closer to ‘The Moment’.  I don’t need it to be, to be honest, but it would be nice.  But I’m not looking for it.  It is better that The Moment comes when he is ready, for then I will know for certain.

He kissed me and said nothing, since nothing needed to be said.

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“You’re in love”, she said, although with the element of surprise it was, almost, a question.

I couldn’t see his face since he was sitting next to me.  Although, looking at his profile, I could almost see the look in his eyes, the pursed mouth; the withering look he gave her that said that she shouldn’t have asked it.

‘You are, I can see, you’re in love’.  OK, so this was more of a statement.

She looked over at me.  I felt it necessary to help him out; to answer for him.  Some seconds had passed.  He hadn’t denied it.  If he had wanted to deny it then it would have been immediate.  My heart jumped a little at this understated, undeclared but obvious ‘truth’.  Yes, he was in love, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

‘No, he’s not’ I replied, smiling as I did so.  He added ‘We’re taking it slowly’.  It’s a slow, slow road to the admission, that’s for sure.  But I know the truth and so did she.  And so does he.

The only nights we are apart, now, are those that are inevitable or occasionally, when we feel it necessary in order to keep up the pretence of keeping it ‘slow’.  No, maybe that’s unfair.  I do understand that it’s difficult for him.  I think he would like it to be slow but it just ain’t really happening that way.

And, afterwards, I told him that I liked the fact that he hadn’t answered straight away.  And he kissed me and said nothing, since nothing needed to be said.

Making an effort too, even if it’s really no effort.

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OK, so, if there’s one thing that we are completely different about, it’s food.  So far, it’s not been that big of a problem.  Although he will eat everything, more or less, if he’s confronted with not much of a choice.  He even had red wine on Saturday night.  I think it was his way to say ‘thank you’ for picking him up from the airport – not that it was necessary of course.  In fact, he’s always considering me with regards to the restaurants chosen.  He’s always looking for a restaurant that serves meat, even if I keep pointing out that it’s not that important.  It’s his way, I think.  Of course, this only becomes clear to me in the morning (like now) and not at the time.

Yeah, my head works better in the morning.

Also, he got milk for me at his home, so that when we had coffee, I could have some milk.  And, the fact that he comes to my house even if it means waking up so much earlier……..and he’s not good in the mornings………he’s like porcelain, you may remember?  I have a spare key so that he could leave later but he wouldn’t take it.  Perhaps tonight I can persuade him to take it?

And I do things too that I wouldn’t normally do.

Last night we slept in our own, respective flats.  For reasons of this morning (I have clients for two days and, so, probably won’t be posting much).  And I left his place later than I had intended last night.  He wanted me to stay.  I wanted to stay.  He wanted to be at my place.  I wanted him at my place.  But this is the problem when you don’t live together.  There’s time (and, yet, no time).  I was strong, even if I really did want to stay so much.  There was no way I wanted to be late to work today and I had to wear a suit and stuff.

Sunday was brunch with FfI and friends at Indiana Post, in the Navigli.  It was nice and got us out of the house.  He is good in these situations but has explained to me that it is a ‘show’ where he is an actor.  And I get it.  He seems even better than V at this stuff.

And I asked him more about his job on Saturday night.  I had been getting the impression that he was more than he let on.  And I was right.  And he takes it seriously and that is good.  And, on many things we think alike, including work, even his is a field I don’t really understand.  But, even if it is a different field, it is all the same.  There are customers and there are the producers and the same shit happens.

And, he told me again he was worried with so much stuff to do, so many things going on in his head.  And I said, again, I would help with anything I can, even if it is a little the same for me (well, certainly for work).

And tonight we go out with some friends who are from the place he lived as a kid.  Then he comes to mine.  Again, not a huge thing but enough to say that he is making an effort too even if, if he’s like me, it’s really no effort..