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I got stoned with Ian and JC last night as Eric stomped around the apartment on the phone, getting mad, taking off his shirt, smoking a cigarette, closing his phone, putting on a sweatshirt. I sunk into the sofa. Eric is a tornado of things. Even when he's quiet you can feel it storming inside of him behind the backs of his eyes. The way he restlessly shifts. And I thought my brain was crowded.

Ian and JC were already stoned when I got home from my last company dinner. Reaction time was 2 minutes lagging. Ian passed me the pipe and while I usually decline because I don't need any help falling asleep face first in a tub of ice cream, I said yes because I felt somewhat celebratory. I am done. My job here is done. I will no longer have to walk through this door, sit at his desk and make people play nice. I am now no longer responsible for what happens in the sandpit.

I haven't seen Ian in forever. After his short stint living on our couch he disappeared as he started to put his life together. We exchanged phone numbers as he's on call at both his restaurant gigs and will have free time to loiter cafes.

Ian got to live through a lot of the J. experience first hand as he was with us during the most dismal 2 months of our relationship. Ian had moved back to SF from Hawaii in November and set up shop in our living room. J. could never go to bed earlier then 2AM and Ian kpet a waiter's schedule so they would sit up and watch television most of the time. At a certain point J. stopped tucking me in and would mutter a "'night" from the couch without even looking at me. Poor Ian would be sitting in the lounge chair trying to quietly ignore the general malaise that would hang in the air while J. and I were in the same room not talking to one another.

November seemed like lifetimes ago as we talked about it last night. I couldn't remember the person I was last year at that time though it hasn't been that long. We talked about Ronny who wants to move back home and J. who is moving back home and how we understand the need to run back to the familiar we also understand the need to keep forging forward away from things that are too easy and too safe.

I don't really want to remember too well who I was in November. While it wasn't easy, it definitely felt safe to be in a lackluster relationship and a boring job. An outside voice would tell me to keep my well paying but non-challenging job because I need the paycheck. Keep the boyfriend who doesn't love you in tow because it's better then being alone. Who the fuck was saying these things?

Fear. I guess fear says these things.

And there I was, knuckles white, holding onto nothing like my life depended on it.

I felt my shoulders drop, my mouth dry out and my brain get fuzzy. I don't need a lot. A bowl will do it and my head is all furry marzipan. Beer didn't help either. Yeah. I don't know. I had a couple.

This made for interesting times trying to help the new girls across the hallway get back into their apartment. In the middle of moving some of their big ticket items the deadbolt to their apartment door broke and wouldn't open. I tried helping them get in through the back door but that didn't seem to work either. Fueled by beer and pot I climbed onto the staircase banister all monkey like to see if their kitchen window would slide open from the outside. I don't know why. If I had gotten it open I would have had to launch myself into the kitchen and pray I would not die nor become impaled painfully on any culinary tools. Not so. No fun. They had to call a locksmith.

I picked up Blinky and though she meowed in protest I burrowed us deep under the covers and told her that we were doing more then okay these days. I felt slurry and drunk and I think she knew it. She stared at me like she knew it.

Blinky broke free from my hold and wandered to the other side of the bed sniffing and investigating the pillows.

"I know," I whispered to her as she purred loudly.

"He does smell nice, doesn't he?" I said before fitfully passing out.