For instance, I saw Mac on New Year's Eve. Is that what I called him? I'm talking about my boy trick of November. We said hey when he came in and I went to talk to him again before we left the restaurant to let him know that I'd like to play again but I'm having a hard time finding a free Saturday. He said it was the same situation for him.

Also, I didn't mention that at the blues club where Deb and I rang in the new year, there was a guy who had the full-on Richard Roundtree thing going on. Medium-short fro, all black threads, vest over a turtleneck sweater and ankle boots. All he needed was a long black leather coat, a woman hanging off him, and a little more in the way of tallness. He already had the wacka-chicka soundtrack going on in the background thanks to the band. Unfortunately, I lost many many cool points by accidently stepping on his foot when Deb and I were making our way to the dance floor ... the "dance floor" being a 6x4-foot empty spot of floor directly in front of the band. And I do mean directly in front of since there is no sort of bandstand or raised area upon which the band played. No, the band just occupied another 6x4-foot area of floor space right next to the front door. Richard Roundtree was apparently a friend of the band because they called him up to dance to James Brown's "I Feel Good."

Angel's in a sugar crash. I went next door to have dinner with Sara and hang out a little and when I got home the lid to a canister that formerly contained fudge and other sweets was on the couch. The empty container was under the coffee table. She's like an alcoholic or something. As long as you're watching her, she's fine. But go next door for an hour or so and she starts looking for the hooch. And she can apparently reach counter space you would never think a Basset Hound could reach to get it.

Deb, this next bit isn't a date report, but may be a little Sara-centric for what you feel like reading.

Deb had to do inventory early this Sunday morning, so there wasn't going to be a Sunday breakfast with the family. Instead, Jake slept late, Deb went to do inventory, and I met Sara for breakfast at Waffle House. It was good to be together again in a non-tense non-anguished situation. The last time we'd spent alone together was that morning when we were both so depressed, and the time before that we'd been fighting.

Waffle House wasn't exactly "alone" together, but it was something, and it was a start. I still felt a little awkward and uneasy. Conversation didn't come as naturally or enthusiastically as it usually does. But better.

Sara was planning on sleeping in our attic for the day, and as we left the restaurant, I asked if I could join her for a while and nap with her. She said yes.

I wanted a reconnection. When the two of us have had a problem, I don't feel like things are quite back to normal until we've had some time alone together after the problem has been resolved, or in this case, after the depression and tension have eased.

It feels like I have to hold her in my arms so that my energy or soul or spirit or whatever you want to call it can silently communicate with hers and say, "I'm still me and you're still you, and we're okay again now." I need to feel it, absorb it. Then I can relax again. I'm so thankful that I got that on Sunday.

Things still aren't perfect and hunky dory, but when we laugh, it feels real again.

Sold the motorcycle on Saturday. I got a call Friday night from a guy who wanted to come down from South Carolina and buy it for cash, sight-unseen. I had to arrange for Jake to get up early with me on Saturday and all of us meet at her warehouse. Everything went well and Jake got a little 50-yard final ride before she had to say goodbye. I think she'll miss it more than I will. Of course, I haven't ridden much in the last two years, so that's only natural.

The family is having a meeting tomorrow night on communication issues, so I need to go do some reading of "The Ethical Slut." I haven't thought about communication and how to fairly go about it in a long time. I've just been proud of myself to come out and say stuff that I wanted to say once in a while.

Way back when I was with Deborah the First, you'd have been hard pressed to hear me raise my voice, or admit to an emotion one way or the other. Unlike the little children on Sesame Street, I didn't know when I felt angry or sad. I just didn't admit to those emotions. It was part of my coping mechanism. When I started therapy, my therapist (boy, did I love my therapist) started calling my family a TSDF�a Typical Southern Disfunctional Family. We didn't talk about feelings or emotions. At all. Ever. We talked about food, weather, accomplishments, daily plans, stuff like that. Love was a word you said quickly, sometimes accompanied by a quick hug. See, the TSDF is different from the TCSDF (Truman Capote Southern Disfunctional Family) where Liz Taylor screams at Paul Newman. Actually, the Paul Newman part where he just drinks instead of talking about anything is probably closer to the TSDF.* (see: one alcoholic sister and one sister with food disorder problems; could I possibly blame all this on my lack of tobacco?)

Anyway, my therapist taught me that the world would not come to an end if I expressed dissatisfaction or unhappiness with a loved one. Nobody would die if I got mad. Nobody would leave me if I stood up for myself a little. Okay, my lover left me, but my therapist still had a point.

I didn't always express my anger in the healthiest ways. I still don't. But I don't keep it bottled up forever either. I don't pretend it's not there. I think I've wandered from the topic a bit.

Saw a hockey game on Sunday. It was fun. There was lots of scoring and a fight and a half. I was telling Anat this morning that, on the way to the hockey game, I'd been more excited about getting to eat a stadium hot dog once we got there than about the game itself. She said that sometimes she was tempted to write an expos� diary entry about what a dork I can be. I told her, and I think you'll agree, that I've done that myself quite enough already.* (see: entry on my attempt at roller blading)

Moving on - 12:11 p.m. , 2007-08-14

Where the hell have I been? - 12:10 p.m. , 2007-02-19

Holy shit! - 2:24 p.m. , 2006-01-11

Stuffing recipe - 6:17 p.m. , 2005-12-13

Good Life Update - 10:22 a.m. , 2005-11-11