...halfway between your house...

My insides were doing cartwheels, my nervous system was holding shouting matches from one end of my body to the other. Everyone was loud inside, everyone was full and busy and manic and manic. Even still, yesterday was externally one of the most silent days I can remember. I was overwhelmed into speechlessness, leaving my thoughts to work themselves out.

Around 9 I started talking. I told Iman everything, everything. Almost as happy for me as I am for myself, she understands my fear but attributes it falsely. It isn't me being pessimistic, it's me being real. Fear is real: fear of real commitment, of nomakebelieving, of repeat horribles. Taking a page out of Goldie Hawn's book, I'm not kidding myself. Happy but hesitant, I know maybe he'll decide to back out, maybe.

The biggest moments of my life have been marked by running scared. For the first time here, I'm not the one having the massive internal debates, and my fear is only a function of his. I know I want this, I know I want this. I mean honestly, on a clear night with torn coasters talking of 1979, mid-February a lifetime ago not even anticipating or dreaming of this week's reality, I knew I wanted this.