It wasn’t the worst of days, which is about all I require of birthdays any more.
L, T, and I went out to Jean-Luc’s, a French place I’d been wanting to try, for dinner (it helped that I could get one entrée discounted on my Entertainment card—the place isn’t cheap). Erich came over to watch M, so we were able to have a leisurely dinner without having it driven by the wants of a four-month-old.
Moon had promised to call me this evening, but stuph happening on her end meant she didn’t get to call until after eleven—which was good, because it gave me the chance to nap away the stupefaction that sets in after a very rich meal and a half-bottle of wine. When she called we talked for more than an hour, and ended by playing by phone for a while—all we can manage, unfortunately, until at least July when I’ll have a chance to see her while we’re in Dallas for American Mensa’s Annual Gathering. Talking with her about “time together” also reminded me that I’ve got to call and make reservations for our planned weekend in Fredericksburg in September.
Moon is intermittently surprising and astonishing me; it’s been far too long since I had someone other than L who loved me for my attributes rather than in spite of them. I don’t know when a friend/lover last told me that she enjoyed having a love who wasn’t rail-thin or all hardbody and weighed more than weight-chart optimum, and whom I can curl up and laugh with and share relative inconsequentialities, like repairing an antique kitchen countertop. She’s still hurting from her breakup with W this week, even though she knows it was the right thing to do, and he’s not helping matters in the least by peppering her with four and five emails a day despite her telling him, in so many words, that she needs a break before she can even consider whether they can return to being friends. I told her she may have to *plonk* him, and she agreed.
