From two till two-thirty it consisted entirely of quoting BBC's Merlin back and forth to each other, laughing our heads off at each quote.
I've been so blessed, these last five months. There is only a handful of people in the world, besides my family, in whose presence I can be entirely myself, in all my quirky, neurotic randomness, and I got to enjoy the company of one of them for a hundred and fifty-one days. She didn't mind my bouncing around the flat making squeaky noises when I was happy. She bore with heroic impassivity my bizarre sleep schedule and compulsive need to have certain things just so. When I had an anxiety attack, she asked if there was anything I needed, and doled out hugs, or mugs of tea, or let me talk myself out or just curl up quietly in a corner and say nothing if that was the best thing.
She left, Friday afternoon, for another province. I was happy and sad. Happy because I knew it was the right time for her to go, that our roads must diverge once more in order to reach whatever God has in store for us next. Sad because it was the end of an epoch, and though I know such an epoch can never be recreated--that to try and cling to it would be to resist the beginning of my life's next stage--I'm allowed to mourn it. I can't wish for the past to return, but I can remember it and treasure it and take joy in the memory.
In Heaven, maybe, we'll look over our lives in all their beauty and quirky randomness, and quote them to each other, and laugh our heads off at each quote. That would be a rather splendid way to spend Eternity, I think. Of course, there will be so much to do and see and feel then; when I start to feel that life's too short to do everything I want to do, I often remind myself that there will be plenty of time after I am dead.
When people talk about Heaven, they often seem to see it as rather a solemn place, but I think it will be fun. All the people I love best, and God, all together for the rest of eternity and no time constraints? If that's not a recipe for a good time, I don't know what is.
I'll see you there, shall I? Don't disappoint me, Dear Ones, friends and family and readers and roommates. Years from now, when I'm dying, I don't want to see a nursing home wall or a shattering windshield or the glare of surgery lights, I want to see your beautiful faces, quoting my life at me. Maybe quoting this blog.
And I'll laugh.