I am horribly, horribly nervous. I wish someone were home for me to bounce my nervousness off of. I'm meeting him 10-ish. More like 10:15, he said; he's going to shoot for ten, but he's Captain Late and he wants me not to worry if he isn't there at ten. I'm never late. I'm chronically three to seven minutes early, everywhere I go.

So I have to time the walk. When do I leave here to meet him at the Tea Room just before 10:15? 9:45 or 9:50, I guess. This afternoon I had agreed to meet Julia and Jeff and Than at the Italian Villa at 2:15. I left the radio station at 1:58 or so and walked progressively slower as I got closer to the restaurant, gauging my ETA over and over and making constant adjustments. I got there at 2:15 on the nose, just as Jeff and Nathaniel drove into the parking lot. I rule.

I'm cleaning my room. I did some laundry. It's the sort of thing I do with this kind of energy.

I don't know what I'm so nervous about. I do this. Even with people I know relatively well, sometimes. I enact possible scenarios in my head. Will I get there first, will she; if I get there first should I get a table and wait, or should I wait outside; what if I can't find the place; what if my hair looks completely ridiculous when I walk in the door. What if I giggle. I did this with the CTY interview, too. I did it at the airport when I visited Curtis last month, and it didn't stop until we got to his apartment. What if what if what if.

I don't do that with Jeff anymore. No matter what, I know things will be okay. Maybe more okay and maybe less okay, but always okay. He got here around three this morning, kept me up until 5:30 talking, then I kicked him out of my room, pleading exhaustion, and he spent the night on our couch. We talked about the girl he's dating, Beth. We talked about Curtis and me. We did not kiss, which I think was a big relief for both of us. He is so touchy-feely, though... not in a way I would really consider invasive or uncomfortable, but I'm not used to being touched at all anymore. I'd be talking to him, and he'd reach over and playfully scritch my ribs, or he'd play with my hair. "You growing this out?" he asked, a bit incredulous, tugging at the strands in the back that are starting to tuck under the collars of my higher-necked shirts. He's just like that. He must have hugged me at least eight times, literally. In just over two hours. Funny, to smell the old familiar Jeff-smells, to creep to the bathroom this morning and see him sleeping on his back on the couch. Jeff didn't used to be able to sleep on his back. He says he's even learned to share a bed with someone pretty well. That was always a sore point for us... he wanted to have sex with me, he wanted to cuddle in bed... but when it was time to sleep, he required that we each huddle on our separate sides of the bed and not touch. Sometimes we even used separate blankets. But here he was... he drank milk out of my Space Needle glass. Lay next to me in my bed that used to be his. Played me songs on the CD player he gave me. Checked his email on my computer... he wrote to Beth, telling her he'd made an impromptu trip here, and said he was writing to her from his best friend's computer. I'm his best friend, he says. Strange.

It's good to have that, though. God knows I've screwed up a million times in front of him. I don't have to save face. I don't have to hide my fat, or shut myself up when I don't think I'm being coherent, or clean my room when I know he's going to see it. He can be disappointed in me and that doesn't feel like a crisis.

I could use some of that. I'm glad he's here, in town... I'm glad I'll see him tonight when I get home. If I make a fool of myself with Will, if we have nothing to talk about and they card me at the bar and my hair looks stupid and I walk home crying (not that I expect that to happen, not even remotely), I'll be able to talk to Jeff about it, and it will be okay. Sometimes it's important to have someone here, physically present. It makes a difference.