Holy crap.
That was not the gist of the conversation I was thinking was going to happen today with my professor.
I had been having some trouble registering for a certain elective for my spring semester and had reached out to my professor, who also happens to be my advisor to ask for assistance.
We had a scheduled phone call for today.
Of course.
I figured out what the issue was before the phone call, but only just barely before, so I decided to call my professor anyway and just check in about the final project I have to do for the class.
“You have gone above and beyond, just great work this semester, I was just talking to Jen (my TA in the class) about your writing, and she agrees, really great work,” he said.
I was so touched and moved.
I thanked him and we chatted a little about the school and the semester and about the registration process and if I had any questions to be sure and reach out over the holiday.
It was such a nice conversation to have with him.
Then he asked if I had any other questions and I did say, yes, about the final project…
“Oh, you can do anything you want, literally anything, do whatever you want, you’ve done so much work this semester, take it easy, relax, turn in whatever makes you happy,” he finished.
I was silently jumping up and down with glee.
I hadn’t gotten as much time the last few days at work to focus on my homework.
I have gotten some done, posted my last big discussion post, but the work I had really wanted to do wasn’t able to get done. The baby’s been a little under the weather at my nanny gig and his nap schedule’s been way off.
Today, for instance, he was sleeping when I showed up, which is highly unusual and meant basically that he wasn’t going to be taking his regular afternoon nap.
The regular afternoon nap I rely on to do homework in.
In fact, he only slept a bare thirty minutes into my shift, so the little time I did have before he woke up was devoted to household odds and ends and I didn’t crack the paper I had been hoping to address.
So when this professor told me to take it easy and that I could literally turn in anything for the final project, I was so overwhelmingly happy, yeah, I did feel like dancing a jig on the sidewalk pushing the stroller up to the Noe Valley Rec Center.
Interestingly enough.
I have had some inspirations as to what to do for the final project for this class, it doesn’t have to be a paper, although it could be, and I floated my idea past my professor.
“Would it be ok to record myself reciting a poem I wrote during the semester and send that to you?”
“Yes! I love that, fantastic, and take as much time as you need,” he said.
I let him know I’d have it in by the deadline.
I have turned in all my papers so far on time and I have no desire to start turning in anything late at this point.
I feel like I pretty much got the A for the class, so might as well send it out with a little fanfare and a poem.
A Year of Tears
You pointed out to me
Every time I see you I cry.
I thought about that for a moment.
Then I cried.
Tears slipped down my face.
Do they carve soft channels in my skin?
Do they leave a trace mineral history writ upon my cheeks?
The certainly, the tears, they do, affect my eyes.
Oh.
I could well argue that it is my new phone with its very good camera that shows all those lines around my eyes.
But it shows, those tears, in my eyes.
I have cried over you for over a year.
Yes.
You were right.
I have cried every time I have seen you for a long while now.
Perhaps even a little more than a year.
Though, not that much longer since we have been together.
Apart.
Together.
Apart.
Together for only so much time.
SO MUCH TIME.
A year and a half.
Oh!
The moon.
I raise my bruised eyes to the sky.
I sing your praises to the moon.
Like a child, I cry for that which I (think) I cannot have.
Longing for you, the moon in my sky.
You say the same to me, that I am your moon.
Your stars.
You talk to me when you are afar.
We talk to each other through the music of the spheres.
The crows carry our conversations to us.
The wind in the trees, a susseration of our words of love.
Each to each.
The avocado tree at work sends my love.
The oak trees where you are pick up the vibrations.
I see you in the beauty of the sunset, in the rise of the moon, in the wind blowing the leaves.
The moon waxes.
Wanes.
We talk to each other from new moon to full moon.
Underneath the Harvest moon.
Through on to the Strawberry moon.
There are many moons, but to me they are all the same, no matter the month.
They are all the Lovers Moon.
And oh.
I love you.
I do.
A secret.
Shhhh.
You may already suspect.
But I will tell you now in all truth, from the bottoms of my feet on up through all the bones of my body, I don’t mind the tears.
Not really.
No.
For they mean I have lived and loved you fierce.
Passionate.
Unrestrained.
With my whole being.
I have loved you.
I love you.
I will love you.
The tears tell me how important you are to me.
So important.
And.
Last night.
Oh.
You held me in your arms.
Such arms, may I always have the fortune to recline in them.
You shining eyes on mine, your kisses showering me.
I knew then.
As I know now.
Every damn day of tears was worth it.
To be, once again, in your embrace
Acceptance this.
Powerful knowing.
The love that matters between the black and white lines of our story.
That is all.
That love.
Surrendered I am to the situation.
For just the being with you my sweet moon brought it all home.
The sea salt tsunami of my love for you shall be the waters I sail my boat upon.
So dear, dear, dear, Dread Pirate Roberts.
I do expect that you will always come back to me.
For true love never dies.
Not ever.
Not now.
Not then.
Not really.
Not until the moon fails to rise and set, to wax and wane.
That moon which blushes with secret admiration for the words we float up to it.
The conduit for our missives to each other.
Telling all our stories of love and adoration, awe and tribulation.
The moon sees us my love.
The moon approves.
Auntiebubba 