I'll be impossible now

I will likely be impossible for my friends to be around this week. I am so enormously elated, so excited I will likely make all normal people sick. I ended up staying at Suzanne's through this morning, and amazingly, was awake and alert at 6:00am. If you've read this much, you know that usually, the only reason I'm up at 6:00am is because I've stayed up all night.

We didn't, believe it or not.

She's amazingly easy to sleep with. As in, sleep with. She fits next to me, neither of us thrashes about, we don't seem to wake each other up (though she did, briefly, mumbling some words I couldn't make out, but once I figured out she wasn't having a bad dream, I left her to her mumbling) and her bed is just soft enough that I get a much, much better sleep than in my own, which is rather unforgiving. She gets up early, talks to her rabbits, writes some stuff, then eventually gets dressed for work. This morning she was quite delicious-looking... a cream-colored blouse and a brown pinstripe suit and the same cute ankle-strap heels she wore when I arrived Friday evening.

And yes, both of us wished we could just blow off work and make love all day, but... we didn't.

While she was in the shower, I burned a CD for her to listen to on her way to work, which, even though it's relatively close in Maryland terms -- less than 20 miles -- is still an hour's travel in New Jersey on a Monday morning. I included all sorts of things I thought she might like, everything from Billie Holiday to Paul Desmond to a song from Avenue Q.

And I was right the other day: we are horribly, disgustingly in love. Just falling all over each other, kissing in the checkout at CompUSA, holding hands, nudging each other while waiting for a table at the diner, kissing at stoplights. I haven't been like this in... well, I am not entirely sure when I have ever been like this. Not with Nancy, at least not that I can remember. Not even with Melody in the early days. Once in a while with Penny.

But this... this is something else entirely. I look at her, and every time I look at her she looks just a little bit different to me. Serene and happy at church, puzzled and frowny when she talks to her parents about work, playful when she's with the rabbits, sort of misty and faraway after we kiss. And no matter what, everything feels so old, so established, as if we're living that cliche where people say they feel like they've always known each other. Even when I learn new things about her, it's as if I expected the answer or somehow knew it all along. Yes, she speaks French. Yes, she hates Brussels sprouts. No, she doesn't particularly like rap. No, she's never been camping but wants to go. Yes, she likes berries and flannel sheets.

We are a pair, we are. Not one thing -- not one -- has triggered the old "uh-oh, am I sure I'm in the right place?" reaction that I seem to feel too often. Not one thing.

And most importantly, I've not for a moment distrusted anything I was seeing or feeling. My own self-doubt has disappeared because she's convinced me I don't need it. I guess I'm worthy after all, and all I need to do it... stay that way.

As I said, the thing that comes to mind most often is, I want to be worth her.