Thursday night, in flight.

Brief update on something I talked about in my last journal entry: whether Ben had heard me or not when we'd talked on the phone when I was in New York, and had told him I was feeling a bit down. I was relieved to find out that he hadn't heard me say that. I know that I talk very fast, and have a fairly deep voice with a funny accent, so it's not always easy to understand me.

I just woke up after a good half hour's nap on the plane home to San Francisco. I scarcely ever sleep on the plane, so it was a welcome restorative. I looked out the window to see nothing but dense white clouds, and knew that meant we were near the Bay Area. Finally almost home after the worst airline experience of my life. But the only thing on my mind is that I'm getting to see Ben tonight. I hunger for him so badly, long to hold him and show him with my body how much I care. It continues to seem like a miracle to me that I can be so fearless in my love for Ben. I can be that way because I know that this incredible man feels the same way about me. He sent me a poem he'd written about how he felt when I was with him. To think that somebody could write such things about me. You know, both of us are wondering how much longer we can last living apart like this. But in some ways, this longing, this anticipation is so delicious that I'd miss it if we were together every day.

They say that love like this makes you unproductive. But it can also inspire you. I've written two screenplays in the past few weeeks. Both of them completed on flights home from New York, and both of them written out of the need to express not, perhaps, what I'm directly feeling, but to express something, anything meaningful because of not having the words to directly describe my own feelings.

I'm envious of Ben's facility of crying. Although my emotions are closer to the surface now than at any time since I was a young adult, I still can't out and out cry. On tonight's flight, watching the movie "Miracle", about the 80s Olympics U.S. hockey victory over the Soviets, brought tears to my eyes repeatedly. It's apparently much easier to shed a few tears over a movie than it is for me to cry for personal reason. (There must be something in the air at 27, 000 feet, since I often seem to write these strange, emotional journal entries when flying.)

Oh, as you can probably guess, by the lack of any mention of additional airline drama, the plane finally took off, more or less at the expected, if much delayed, time, as I anxiously watched every moment. I barely have enough time after landing at SFO, to get home, shower, repack, and drive over to Oakland for my evening flight to LA. I haven't, of course, seen my baggage in twenty-four hours, so that could still be the one big thing that could wreck my plans.

Saturday night, Los Angeles.

Airline update: yes, they lost my bag. I waited forty five precious minutes, and no bag. They now say that it's still in New York, and that they'll send it on to Ben's house. We'll see.

Thursday night with Ben: wonderful of course. I noticed he's reading a book about love and relationships. I wondered if he left it out in the open on purpose. Probably not. I'm reading a book on relationships too, but I hid it from Ben when he last came to visit. I can be secretive about the strangest things. Apparently, though, not as secretive as I used to be. I felt completely comfortable shaving my chest in front of Ben, something I've never let anybody else see. It's little things like that which make me realize how right Ben is for me; bit by bit, the neuroses and hang ups that I've experienced in all my other relationships are being blown away by clarity.

We were up early enough on Friday to make out for an hour before I drove Ben to work. He lent me his car for the day so that I could drive to Starbucks in West Hollywood, and work from there. There's not too much going on at work right now, since my time on this project is winding down, finally. I'm going on my month-long European vacation next Saturday, so right now I'm just clearing up the loose ends. In fact, I only did a few hours work, and spent much of my day either reading the New York Times, or working out at 24-Hour Fitness across the street.

Finally, it was Saturday, the weekend, and no more work obligations. We got up early enough to meet with Ben's realtor at nine. After completing the paperwork, he finally put his house on the market. Wow it's official: the first big step towards my moving down here. I took a further little step in the afternoon, getting a discount card at Capitol Drugs in West Hollywood. One step at a time. We spent the afternoon in a complete frenzy of shopping, along with Ben's friend B. We're all going on the gay cruise together, and we needed to get costumes for the four theme parties. I'll keep the details for later, but I will let on that we spent a crazy $500 for two pairs of feathered, angel wings, which we have to somehow transport first to Paris, then to Venice by train. And they're so big, beautiful and expensive that we'll also have to cart them from Barcelona, to Paris, then home again at the end of the trip.

Airline update: we got home from shopping in the early evening, and finally, my bag had arrived, after three days lost in some sort of baggage Bermuda Triangle.

Sunday night, Los Angeles

At the time of this writing, I don't know that I'm actually going to transcribe this into my journal since it's going to be so personal. Sometimes I wish there was an easy way for me to mark off portions of this journal for my eyes only, so that I could be more free to record all these things I want to remember.

I just left Ben after sex. He was drifting off, naked on top of the bed in the darkness. I mostly go to the guest room once Ben is asleep, since I'm a light sleeper and Ben snores so much. Then I ease back into his bed early in the morning.

I never thought I could so surrender myself to love. If it wasn't for my faith in Ben's feelings for me, I'd think I was taking crazy risks with my own heart. Some of the things I've said to him, written to him, or done for him I'd have thought impossible just a few months ago. For example, this weekend I surprised him with a couple's massage at a spa in Santa Monica. When I hold him in my arms, it feels like I can't tell where I begin and he ends. Is this some kind of psychosis? Sometimes I feel maybe I've dived too deep and I'm swimming in dangerous waters. And although Ben is romantic also - for instance the roses he had sent to my hotel in New York - he's not as spontaneous or imaginative in this regard, I don't think, as I am. That doesn't seem to bother me, surprisingly, although I do wonder if my own acts could lead to him eventually taking me for granted. Probably I worry too much.