all is clear, all is bright

I just got back from the airport to drop Shim off, where Delta were most interested to discover he'd been planning to fly to Heathrow when they'd been planning to send him to Schipol. Luckily, the people at Ithaca airport are wonderful. This is entirely sincere. I have previously written them letters detailing their myriad wonderfulnesses. My beloved is going back where he's supposed to be.

Also luckily, happydork has provided me with precisely the tool I needed to express my feelings on the matter.

Ah, the last week or so seems to have passed in a breezy two hours. The South African Siren commented that "you can show him all the sights of Ithaca! The farmers' market, the waterfalls... shouldn't take more than an hour or so." This isn't quite true. It took us at least a day. We did go to the farmers' market, where we bought a butternut squash and a bottle of raspberry wine; we went to the county booksale, where we bought seventeen books between us for the princely sum of five dollars and twenty-five cents; we walked along the Commons and bought nothing and talked about nothing at all. We went to Moosewood, together with a bunch of friends of mine, and, well, lawyers are awful and if you get seven of them in one place they will talk shop, but we ended up talking about the failings of American legal pedagogy over cheese strudel and Finger Lakes wine, and a good time was had by all, I think.

And at the end of the evening, another friend gave us a lift home and we walked the last bit of the way through a sparklingly cold night, beneath the sodium lights, and got home just before we froze. This is my least favourite part of my life, at the moment, walking through my apartment door. When I first throught of it, I mentally called it a substantive/procedural distinction (see abover re: lawyers being awful) but it is, it really is. I miss Shim every day of my life. (I'm sorry, I'm in the mood for winter-afternoon sentimentality.) I do, and I do, what can you do.

But more than that... I miss coming home at the end of the day to someone. I miss cooking for two. I miss each day's half-dozen passing touches between hands. Most of all, I miss not being afraid of the dark. Especially here in Ithaca, the town that public transport forgot,^[1] but generally: I miss knowing that I can go out as late as I like, dance as much as I like, drink three glasses of wine and not be afraid to walk home in the dark. It sucks, but there you are.

But I had a whole week of Shim being here, and we did things and went to places but also abused my Netflix subscription, watched random old Blackadder and Yes Minister and stayed up late drinking whisky, and just spent time... spending time. Which I wanted, and needed, and I actually feel much better, now, than I expected. This time we won't be apart for twelve weeks, we'll be apart for seven. We'll be in Edinburgh for Hogmanay. We made plans for next summer (Shetland? Israel?) and for what we'll do if I plan to take the bar, if I don't, if we decide to just skive off life for a couple of months and buy soft furnishings. The long view is coming back into focus.

Speaking of television, we got through The Middleman, too. livrelibre and eruthros showed us the first couple of episodes, and then Shim and I got through the next six in a worryingly short period of time. I really like it: it's dead silly, with bright colours and explosions, but I love the character stuff. I love especially how it quite often passes the Bechdel test in an episode's first forty seconds, and I love the Middleman and Lacey's abortive milk-and-lone-ranger-based love affair, and I love the word "tuba". It's an inherently funny word. A whole episode where they say it in nearly every sentence is like pie to me.

(Speaking of, something insidious is happening to me. Shim was rooting around in my room for a comb or something and I said, "It's on my desk, could you go get it, please."

...and then paused, said weakly, "Go and get it...." - and went to have a metaphorical lie-down.

I suppose it's inevitable. Doesn't mean I have to like it.)

Anyway, I have declared my intention to get a cat, once we move to Cambridge, and name it "The Middlecat!", pronounced with jazz hands. What, I think this is a great idea. Also, I want to know where all the Wendy/Lacey fic on the internet is. It's somewhere, right. This is not a DIY issue.

Now. I am being kind to self, today. Hallowe'en whatnot tonight, my costume so far consists of "Hallowe'en burlesque", whatever the hell that means (the Siren, in the meantime, is going to dress up as a bear if I have anything to do with it), and maybe I'll do some work or maybe not. Someone nice has already claimed my rs_small_gifts prompt, so maybe I'll work on mine.

Onwards and upwards.

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[1] If you're dying to tell me right now that actually Ithaca is pretty good for public transport, as small towns in the US go, just... don't, okay?

further to the previous:

Hello, flist. So, I got drunk and gave my sorrows a proper good dunking. But, I got home safely, and I had a really good time, and for once, for once, I feel like I have friends here in Ithaca, friends who got drunk with me and sobered up with me and then tossed a coin to see who had to get me home, because it was a responsibility they had to discharge, because they are my friends. The South African Siren brought me home, kindly, with much amusement, and understanding of why I chose tonight of all nights to get rather drunk (I wailed on her and told her actually I am GAY, this is all a misunderstanding; she laughed at me and took me home). But, you know, the people on my course, though I am not bestest friends with many of them, have this in common: they are kind and welcoming and friendly, and there is a wee gang of cool kids and they are kind, welcoming and friendly too. I think it is an artefact of how we are all international students and a long way from home, but I like it, very much.

And I wore a corset and it looked awesome, so there. I mean, I really did. A corset, a wee skirt, tights and my favourite heels, and I wasn't dressed as anything in particular but I am a great believer in the influence of clothes on mood. I felt good in it, which makes me think I should go gothing more often - there are no goth clubs in Ithaca, apparently; at least I have not found anyone who dresses up on a regular basis - and also, also. There was a guy who I knew who dressed up tonight as a Red Indian, ohgod, why would you, why. And I said to someone, hey, I think that's kind of problematic. And they said, why. And I said, it's like, you wouldn't dress up in a sari and be an Indian for Hallowe'en, would you. And they said, er. Oh, that's kind of bad, isn't it. And everyone I said this to, even through my various glasses of wine, seemed to agree with me on this. And it made me happy. It really did. I mean I am just a stroppy brown girl most of the time. (Oh, I am so tired of being a stroppy brown girl. But.)

I am doing a lot better than I expected, really. Shim will be home soon. So will I.

Tomorrow, pumpkin pie! And work. But pie also.