I texted Soccer Captain a few days ago to find out where he’d gotten the sterling silver necklace cast in the shape of New Mexico, one of my most treasured pieces of jewelry until I lost it moving into the adorable little hobbit hole I’ve lived in for the past pair-or-so of years. He texted me back directly and then we had a brief exchange, in which I encouraged him to keep buying just-because gifts for the women he dates, because I am of the opinion that women are not nearly spoiled enough. He replied that he is well on his way to spoiling her–presumably, his new girlfriend–and he hoped I found someone with whom I too could be as happy.

Which totally chafed me.

I responded that I’d found that person already–it’s me! get it?–and I was very content to keep spoiling the shit out of myself for the time being. The exchange lapsed into awkward silence. I stewed in a hormonal rage for a few days (excuse me, is this a romcom? Did my ex seriously just channel Mr. Collins and wish me “equal felicity in marriage”?) And finaly I resolved it thusly:

2012 is my boyfriend and 2012 spoils me completely fucking rotten, just because.

So, basically, I went to a dinner that was featured in the NY Times. No big, whatev.

In spite of the fact that right now I think she is kind of an asshole, I can’t help but be amazed. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her so happy.

Here is the little nook in which we sleep. It has gotten progressively cozier over these weeks.

I was really mad about something earlier, but then I watched Lady and the Tramp with the boys and played catch and fed the chickens and then my dog decided to take a tour of the (coyote-infested) neighborhood right after dark and then after I found her and used every iota of self-discipline I possess so that I didn’t beat her senseless, I had a half a bottle of wine and finished the second book I started today and re-watched The Fellowship of the Ring and cooked myself a ridiculously extensive 4-course dinner and now I just can’t remember what it was. I am sure it had something to do with NOS but I just could not care less right now, or any more, probably.

Dirty dirty dirty love.

Yes, Melanie had been there that day with a sword in her small hand, ready to do battle for her. And now, as Scarlett looked back, she realized that Melanie had always been there beside her with a sword in her hand, unobtrusive as her own shadow, loving her, fighting for her with blind passionate loyalty, fighting Yankees, fire, hunger, poverty, public opinion and even her own beloved blood kin.
Scarlett felt her courage and self-confidence ooze from her as she realized that the sword which had flashed between her and the world was sheathed forever.
“Melly is the only friend I ever had,” she thought forlornly. the only woman except Mother who really loved me.”

Margaret Mitchell

I went to the pet store yesterday to pick up a bag of dog food for Mama Cass, and spent nearly an hour watching the comets and ruykins and orandas and mollies and tetras and cichlids flirt and play in their tanks. They were so terribly adorable! I can’t wait to get home to Jack and Dolly.

Talked my marvelous, lovely house sitter into watching the cat for a few extra days, and so now I will get to spend New Year’s Eve in Santa Fe with my family here, and I won’t have to return to Tuscaloosa until right before the semester starts. I’ve already paid January rent and bought all my books for the semester. The moment I get home I can bury myself in work and plan excursions to NYC and the beach and of course to Chicago for AWP, and before you know it it will be Spring and I’ll be hiking into the tangles of lilies and crimson clover and wisteria and honeysuckle, sweetness everywhere. Spring in Alabama is worth waiting all year for.

In the dream I was in labor for an endless, interminable period. Finally the person who was coaching me suggested that I push and see what happened. I spread a blanket out beneath me, fell back on the heels of my hands and pushed once, and the baby slithered out, nearly of its own accord. For a split second, I wondered if I should gather it up, covered as it was in all that newborn goo. But then I was already doing it. A girl. By the time we got her cleaned up she was already speaking in full sentences, sweet and warm and curious about the world.

“Yeah, Smeigel. He’s a little like Steven Tyler. Only…except a little heavier.”

Eating all kinds of delicious snacks in lieu of dinner (pesto flatbread pizza, baked brie and cherry preserves with baguette, gorgeous tarts, etc) and drinking wine and watching the LOTR trilogy with Julia and Cameron. Mama Cass is stretched out across my bed, snoring. We are halfway through our second bottle of wine. Life is very sweet.

Woke up grumpily and ate a handful of almonds on the drive to yoga. Ali MacGraw there again–I am beginning to think she and I like the same yoga classes. After she thoroughly, thoroughly showed me up (pretty much everyone did–these three years I’ve taken off from yoga have sure put me behind) I left the studio glowing and yogastoned and met J at bagelmania for the eggs benedict sampler (crabcake, tomato/avocado, traditional.) I finished every last bit of it, dredging the hash browns gleefully through egg yolk and hollandaise.

I have recently discovered that I have a metabolic type that is very intolerant of sugar and simple carbs but very accommodating to proteins. I’ve been keeping raw nuts and/or beef jerky on my person at all times and I’ve found that I’m a lot less moody. In the middle of breakfast, my Godparents called–they are on their way to Crested Butte and will be staying in Santa Fe overnight with their five rambunctious kids and two labs. We made plans to meet for dinner before my movie date to watch Sherlock Holmes and I am SO EXCITED. They are a loud, boisterous, hilarious clan and I adore them. I was actually waxing rapturously about them over Christmas dinner last night, so this is a marvelous coincidence. Before dinner, I need to do more house-tending: wash my yoga clothes and my new pajamas, take my supplements and antidepressants and wash my hair, turn the compost, sweep the kitchen, unload and reload the dishwasher, etc. The sun is out in full and the snow is melting off the yard and the house is warm. It is strange to think I’ll have to go back to Alabama soon. I feel like I only just got here.

I got a HOUNDSTOOTH SCARF! And the Taschen Book of Symbols and a pair of super-soft pajamas and several purses and some sexy nail polish called “wined up” and journals and nice pens and a big bag of New Mexican food and a couple of pairs of dangly earrings and I don’t know what-all. I can’t believe what an amazing Christmas it was, so full of generosity and laughter. Then I baked my mom’s legendary Christmas morning-staple, Sour Cream Coffee Cake, and we took it over to the C’s where the boys were, predictably, causing utter mayhem. I had my traditional Mid-Day Christmas Sugar Crash at noon and trudged home to sleep off the excitement and lack of sleep and excess of coffee and bailey’s and cake. Tonight is a big gorgeous dinner and then I am going to sleep for another three days. Loving people to bits like this is EXHAUSTING.