I’m on my own at the moment. Wolf is getting ready to defend his thesis and the three of us (including my other manfolk, Jaime) are distributed almost equidistantly among time zones.
But I have things well in hand.
It’s the end of the year. I’m at Wolf’s mother’s place, the very place where I launched this blog just over three years ago, as a matter of fact. The weather is cold and I don’t want to go outside and my back is complaining about the long road trip and subsequent inactivity.
I took this photo at home, in the newly painted bedroom. It’s a dark colour, and rather more reminiscent of the London dungeon Jaime and I visited back in March than I’d intended, but it’s also about my favourite colour in the world so fuck it.
I’ve been back home long enough that it feels normal again. Well, mostly. Having been in a place where the sun was nearly overhead, somehow it seems like at home it’s even lower than it was last year at this time. And the days are so short.
I don’t think I’ve talked much about my fatigue here. It’s an ongoing issue, like for years now. I don’t have a diagnosis of chronic fatigue syndrome, though I could probably get one if I wanted it; my doctor doesn’t disagree with it but he doesn’t find it helpful so he hasn’t branded me with it so far.
While I was away, I didn’t notice any unusual fatigue. Granted, I was on vacation and actually took things easy, but still, it stood out. At one point I wondered if I might actually be better. And then I got home, and after recovering from the exhaustion of long haul travel and jet lag, I feel like I still have the same fatigue problem as before. Curious but somewhat encouraging that it went away, if only briefly.
This photo was taken during my trip. There’s nothing green outside my window at home.
Burgundy, cranberry, claret, raspberry, maroon. Deep red is my favourite colour.
The Sinful Sunday theme this week is “red“.
Hello all! I just got home the other day from a lengthy trip to visit Jaime. It was wonderful to spend time with him again after so long apart, but I’m now getting re-accustomed to my regular routine. And time zone. And hemisphere.
If anyone asks about my trip, I can tell them that the weather was good but it was rather disorienting to go to a country where the sun is too high and on the wrong side of the sky, and that it took even longer to get used to because half the days were cloudy. It’s been disorienting coming home too, with snow on the ground and what feels like 5:30 pm sunshine at 1:30.
But I won’t tell them how it’s both comforting and bittersweet to go from the care of one man I love to that of the other, in either direction. Or how, even though there’s been a net increase of love, I regret the fact that the competition for my time is a zero-sum game and I must always disappoint one of them.
These photos are from the outbound trip.
Wolf finished his thesis last week, and I insisted on proofreading until past my bedtime even though a deadline was looming. I hadn’t been able to help much with the doctorate beyond being a sounding board, but this was the assistance I’d been planning to give him since he first was admitted to Oxford. It was for him but also for me.
He emailed it off to the printer down the street from his former residence, and try as I might I can’t visualise the shopfront. Once printed, the readers’ copies would be delivered to the Examination Schools, another place I’ve walked past countless times. He’ll be mildly fretful about it until it’s successfully delivered, and so it’s on my mind too.
An acquaintance from sexy Twitter just ran the Oxford Half Marathon the other day. I’ve spent some time in the city and though I haven’t been there for the Half Marathon, I’m certain I’ve seen some other race there. I have a mental snapshot of runners in bibs, which must then date from May or June 2015. Where were they? Longwall?
Another acquaintance from sexy Twitter has family in Oxford and also studied there. We’ve talked about that a wee bit, and discussed colleges. No doubt some of his most vivid memories of the city are situated near some of my own. Like that evening when I saw an undergrad in a room above street level, carrying on with the music loud and window open, and wearing a bedsheet toga.
My mood is tenuous. It’s bedtime and I’m looking for a book to read. Must be fiction but there’s precious little new fiction in the house. I haven’t yet cracked the new Yann Martel, in part because the quote from a review on the front cover calls it “entirely heartbreaking”. Why did I buy this? So I look for an old friend and choose Deborah Harkness’ A Discovery of Witches, a goodly chunk of which is set in Oxford.
I’d spent time in the city before I first read the book, but only a couple of weeks by that point. My visual memory is shit and I could barely remember the things that I had seen. I reread the book in preparation for my trip in 2015, and then soaked up vistas, views and sights. Radcliffe Camera. The Bodleian Library, the Sheldonian, All Souls (all from the outside). New College mostly from the outside but briefly from the inside once to take in evensong. The Covered Market, Blackwells, Holywell Street. The river down to the college boathouses and beyond. On the second-last day of my two-month visit, I took a tour of the Bod and got to see the famous Duke Humphrey’s Library and the Selden End (alas, no photos allowed), where the Harkness book begins.
As a student, Wolf was in and out of the Bod regularly, though not this building. He has a few business cards and one of those makes an utterly perfect bookmark for this book.
When I arrived in Oxford that time, Wolf and I both had things to tell each other that needed to be said in person. We’d been living apart for the better part of three years, though our last separation commenced only about two months before. He told me that he wasn’t feeling well and hadn’t been for a few months already. He had noticed a problem soon after he had last returned to Oxford, so it must have been March. There wasn’t much to be done until we got home, but at least I’d already set up a checkup for him. Seven weeks after he went for that checkup, he was having open-heart surgery. The ends of the scar are still pink, the drugs a daily reminder.
It was all I could do to wait a week before sharing my own news. During that week, we fucked up a storm, jet lag and period notwithstanding. It was a delight to reconnect, and to connect sexually in a way that we hadn’t really ever before. I’d been busy having my epiphany and related revelations but I was at home alone most of that time. And when he had been home, he found it a bit overwhelming.
When I could no longer hold my tongue and finally confessed that Gawan wanted to come and meet me, it was very difficult and took quite a while for Wolf to process. I have a trip to visit Gawan in a few weeks, and my departure date is almost two years from the day we first met at my local airport. Gawan is now my dom, and though the distance and polyamory are a challenge, Wolf is comfortable with it now, which allows me to be too.
The book I brought with me to Oxford was Guy Gavriel Kay’s River of Stars. I’ve since given Gawan the previous GGK book, which he’s currently reading.
I’m not generally one for romance novels, but I found I enjoyed the romance element of A Discovery of Witches. The main character is a witch who has avoided learning anything about or using witchcraft and magic since childhood, and the love interest is a vampire. Leaving aside the issue of how vampires in literature (and other media) went from being terrifying to romantic, many of the little things he does are dominant; it reminds me a touch of D/s. One of the first things he says to her is that it can be pleasurable to let someone else take the lead, he’s protective of her, and following a bonding moment he declares that she belongs to him. And she agrees. He’s used to being obeyed. He also wears a lot of black, so there’s that.