My sweet dream

Day 12.

She called last night.
In the middle of a dream, I picked up the phone and heard her voice on the other end.

Her: Are you okay? I was worried about you.
Me: I'm doing better, much better. No worries.
Her: And your hand? Is your hand all right?
Me: Yes, it looks like it's going to be fine.

Her: Oh - it's late - I woke you up. I'm sorry.

Me: Don't be sorry - I love the sound of your voice.
Me: How can I know that I'm not still dreaming?

Her: Maybe you are.
Her: I should let you get back to sleep.

Me: Will you call me again?
Her: No.
Me: Then this is a bad dream.
Her: Okay, I might call again.
Me: Then this is a good dream.

She hangs up.
I lay in the darkness and smile to myself, the echo of her voice still fresh in my mind.
I wish I could talk to her again. Tonight. Every night.

I think I am really falling for this woman.
Please don't wake me up.
I love this dream.

How fine she is

"Do you know how fine you are to me, Mary MacGregor? ... So fine."
(Liam Neeson as Robert Roy MacGregor. From the motion picture Rob Roy)

Day 11.

Have I told you how beautiful she is?
Can my description do her any justice?

Hair ..... Black and shiny, like a wolf's mane
Skin ..... The color and scent of melted honey
Eyes .... As green as emeralds, as clear as a mountain stream
Lips ..... Soft as the twilight sun, full as the harvest moon
Smile ... Disarming, playful, and sad - all at the same time
Hands .. Gentle as the summer wind, strong as a sailor's knot
Body .... Lean and graceful; the silhouette of a princess

She is the most beautiful woman I have ever known.
And the mere thought of her takes my breath away.

Her mind is as sharp as a razor; she cannot be fooled. She has charm, intelligence, humor and style. She can read moods as well as thoughts. She always knows just the right word, at the right time; she wields her language more skillfully than a samurai wields his sword. She is deliciously clever.

She makes me laugh, she leaves me speechless.
When I am around her, the world takes on a richer hue.
She is intoxicating and pure. She is powerful and sweet.

She is more than my equal; she is my counterpart.

And with each day that passes, and with each new letter, it becomes even more clear to me how incredibly rare and wonderful she really is. The world is a better place with her in it.

Healing nicely

Well, after a few days of recovery (and some very intense drug therapy), I am happy to report that I am healthy once again. The hand is healing nicely, and it looks like I will be no worse for the experience.

Bad kitty. // Good doctor.

My power, my gift

Day 9.

I think the poison is receding: hard to tell. The last day and night were pretty rough. Woke up three times last night to puke up some sort of blackish liquid (sorry - too graphic). Bones are aching, and I'm still a bit lightheaded, but the red streak is no longer visible on my arm. The only visible symptom left is the swollen hand. The pressure building inside the tissue has caused the space between my fingers to turn deep red; as if I were wearing steel rings around the first three fingers and then heated the steel until it burned my skin.

I pause to consider the worst-case scenario. I don't think this will kill me, but there is still some chance that I could lose my left hand. What would I do if that happened? Option 1: tell them to leave the dead stubs there; I'd rather have a hand worth looking at than a hand that is useful. Option 2: replace the dead hand with a mechanical one; I'd rather have a hand that is useful than a hand that looks pretty. In my mind, I choose the first option. Why would I do this?

Because ... I fear ... HER.

I fear her reaction. I fear her ability to accept me in spite of such a flaw. I fear that she would no longer see me as attractive and worthwhile. I fear losing any chance to win her heart.

Okay - reality check - what in the world has happened to my FRAKKIN' priorities? Regardless of whether or not this situation becomes reality, why should I care about her opinion? Why would her opinion matter more to me than my own comfort? After all, isn't human nature, at it's very core, hedonistic?

This is a thought I cannot dismiss.
Do I fear her, because I admire her, or
Do I admire her, because I fear her?

To put it another way,
Do I fear her criticism, because I admire her opinion (the way she thinks), or
Do I admire her power (over me), because she can inspire fear (and a host of other feelings) in me?

She did not do this to me - I have done it to myself.
I reached deep into my chest, and pulled out my bruised and beating heart, for her casual inspection.
I pulled the dagger from my boot, pointed the tip at my heart, wrapped her hand around the pommel, and hoped that she would "be careful with it".
One flick of her wrist, and she could cut me. One false move, and she could rend me completely.
I have given her this power. It is a strange gift, but it is the most precious thing I can offer.

<< This is my way of saying that "I trust you". >>
<< For some reason, I just want to believe in you. >>

Cat's revenge

Day 8.

No joke. I was bitten by our housecat the other day; the puncture was deep, but not deep enough to require a trip to the hospital. I applied some antibiotic ointment and a bandage, and that was that. A day later, my hand started to turn red, and my arm was sore, so I applied some witch's salve and took an antibiotic. Last night, the whole arm was throbbing and I had a fever; I could barely sleep. Today at work, the hand was feeling better, but all of my energy has been drained, I am sick to my stomach, and my bones feel like they are on fire.

Call the doctor, and he says to come in right away. The old man points to a trail of red streaks going up my arm and into my shoulder. He asks if the cat has rabies (I don't think so). He asks how long it has been since I had a tetanus shot (I couldn't recall). Half an hour later, I've received a shot in my ass, two horse-sized pills, a prescription for another set of pills, advice to take the next couple of days away from work, and a strong warning: "if this doesn't clear up by Wednesday, we'll have to put you into the hospital."

Will my life be undone by a three-pound furball?

Wanting something Canadian

Day 7.

SHE is reaching into a bathtub filled with ice and beer.
Her: "So what do you want? I think they might have some Coors ..."

Unconsciously, my eyes drift downward - she turns to catch me admiring her ass.
Me: "I think I'd like to try something ... CANADIAN this time."
Her: "Oh you - I know exactly what you're thinking!"

Oh right ... did I mention that she lives in Canada?

Thousand moments

Excerpt from the movie screenplay for "COLD MOUNTAIN" Written by Anthony Minghella
Based On The Novel "Cold Mountain" by Charles Frazier  <Script-Tribute>

Characters in this scene:
Ada ... the main character, a woman hardened by the reality of frontier life during civil war
Inman ... wounded civil war veteran who has walked for months to get back to Ada
Ruby ... Ada's best friend and hired hand; gutsy, practical, and full of wit
Stobrod ... Ruby's father, who was mortally wounded, and is now asleep in a hut

--------------------------------
EXT. ADA AND RUBY HUT, CHEROKEE VILLAGE. NIGHT

Inman is outside his cabin. Only the light escaping from the
cabin, fire lights them, almost silhouettes.

     INMAN
          I'm sorry. I was trying to be quiet.

     ADA
          I couldn't sleep.

     INMAN
          -- I got no appetite left to be in a
          room with wounded men.

     ADA
          I can't see your face.

     INMAN
          It's not a face you recognised.

     ADA
          Did you get my letters?

     INMAN
          I got three letters. Carried them in
          that book you gave me. The Bertram.

     ADA
          I must have sent 100. Did you write
          to me?

     INMAN
          Whenever I could. If you never got
          them I can summarize.

     ADA
          No, it's --

     INMAN
          I pray you're well. I pray I'm in
          your thoughts. You are all that keeps
          me from sliding into some dark place.

     ADA
          But how did I keep you? We barely
          knew each other. A few moments.

     INMAN
          A thousand moments. They're like a
          bag of tiny diamonds glittering in a
          black heart. Don't matter if they're
          real or things I made up. The shape
          of your neck. The way you felt under
          my hands when I pulled you to me.

     ADA
          Your boots, one polished, one not
          yet polished.

     INMAN
          You're playing a piano and I'm
          standing outside.

     ADA
          I'm playing a piano and you're
          standing outside.

     INMAN
          That kiss -- which I've kissed again
          every day of my walking.

     ADA
          Every day of my waiting.

     INMAN
          Maybe you can't see my face, but if
          you could see my inside, my whatever
          you want to name it, my spirit, that's
          the fear I have deeper than any gash
          on my neck. I think I'm ruined. They
          kept trying to put me in the ground,
          but I wasn't ready, no ma'am, no
          more ready than that scoundrel in
          there's not ready to die on us. But
          if I had goodness, I lost it. If I
          had anything tender in me I shot it
          dead.

Ruby stomps out of the hut.

     RUBY
          Number one -- shut this door, it's
          freezing.
(goes over to Stobrod's hut)
          Number two -- shut that door, it's
          freezing.
(turns to them)
          I'm laying on my back, with my fingers
          poked in my ears trying to shut out
          who's got a bag of diamonds and who's
          got boots needs polishing, If you
          want to get three feet up a bull's
          ass listen to what sweethearts whisper
          to each other.

She's at the door to Stobrod's hut. She contemplates them.

     RUBY
          In fact, if you're going to wimble
          all night I'm going to sleep in with
          him.

And with that she enters Stobrod's hut, slamming the door.