Dennis is a Menace, and Rust is a four-letter word.

Boy, am I in trouble. I'm no good at trust, like I'm no good at relationships. This is a fact of life. I take calculated risks, but I almost never trust. I say, 'what can I lose here? can I afford to lose it? what are the odds I will lose it?' and if all that comes back ok, then I do it, and it looks like trust. But it's not. It's a pale imitation. Like my relationships.... there is no deep-down love, affection and real desire to spend the rest of our lives together... there is temporary comfort, refuge from the world outside. Like a heated awning in a storm, it is not salvation, you must go back out again and the storm probably won't be over.

I went to Dennis' last night. I know, I know, he called me at 3am and we all know there's one reason a body calls a person of the opposite sex at 3am. But I get over there and he wants to talk. He wants to get to know me better. He wants to tell me about his life and himself. And then, of course, comes the other stuff... But he... he watches me sleep. He stares at me with that goofy look. He listens when I talk. He holds onto me like... I don't even know what, but he wraps his arms around me and holds on tight and that makes no sense to me, it's not sexual, what is he doing? He wants to know about me.. things that won't just be relevant five minutes from now. He put my birthday in his calendar and he's already talking about Christmas. He says my name like it's... like he's glad he knows it. Not like he's happy he remembers, or like he's trying to remember through repetition, but like it's something special I gave him.

And he wants me to trust him. Like seriously trust him, not just the fall asleep with your back turned in his apartment trust, that's easy. Not even now, but "in time." In time?? You've gotta be crazy, what time? We don't have time. We're nomadic line cooks, there's no time like the present. He's planning to go to Seattle or Boston at the end of the year and I'm planning to hop a ship south by November. See? No future in it. Which, as we all know, doesn't mean I can't enjoy it while it lasts, right? Right. That is the plan. To enjoy the fact that he has an expiration date. We all know how much I like boys with expiration dates.

I haven't even brought him here yet. We've only been seeing eachother a week and you know me, we wasted no time finding the bed. But I get messages from him all day every day. Little jokes and things he's thinking about and so on.... and it's well, it's unsettling when you put it all together because I don't want a relationship. I don't want to commit. I don't want to settle down, I don't want to go back to Seattle and I don't want to freeze to death in Boston and I just want someone I can have a little fun with and then kiss good-bye when I hop a ship. This doesn't seem like that. But I'm enjoying it an awful lot. An Awful Lot. Like can't stop grinning lot. Like I don't mind the bruises and the sore muscles and the fact that my brain cells have flown the coop.

I'm putting off "The Conversation." We haven't talked about what we want in this sense or where it's going or not going, or other people or anything like that. We've both tap-danced carefully around the subject and right now I don't feel prepared to handle that conversation so I think that I will continue to avoid it. I know what I want in a general sense, but I really like him and he really likes me and if I'm smart I'll give it a chance. I know this... If I'm smart, I'll give it a chance. The question is, Am I that smart? Or will I say something to him on Thursday night about how we should see other people? Or will I ask if he is? Will I ask him where he thinks this is going and watch him turn around and ask me to answer the same question first and thereby color his answer with my jaded and terrified inability to commit? Will I say something stupid and ruin it? Probably. So maybe it's best to keep my fool mouth shut, or at least occupied.

I couldn't sleep most of the night. I kept thinking about what he said about trusting him and my heart was going a mile a minute and I was flipping out. I kept trying to lay there and calm down and go to sleep. It wasn't working. I don't know. Maybe I want it to work out. I mean, he's not on any medication. Nor does he appear to need any, and you know that I don't usually go for guys that aren't under a psychiatrist's care. That's a sign of stability, right? And he's got a brain, and he uses it. He's got goals and plans and stuff... his own apartment, with no roommates, mom's not footing the bill, nothing. He went to culinary school, he even seems to be a good cook. He's smart and competent and did I mention good-looking?

Better yet, he already knew to wear Drakkar. All men should. I like them better, I'm nicer to them, they just should, all the time. Most women know that, but most men have to be told. He already knew. I love that smell. Most women do.

Argh. Ok, I'm getting up. I'm doing laundry if it kills me. Which, with the strength in my legs currently being so minimal, it just might. If you find me dead next to my laundry basket near the washing machine, still grinning and covered in bruises, you'll know what happened. Let them all down gently and don't invite them to the same funeral. You may have to hold quite a number of services for all my exes, but the lack of fights and general insanity will probably be worth it. Too many lunatics trying to hump one casket is generally unsettling and it would interrupt my mother's drama festival. You may want to hire a fake mother to look sad and less unbalanced. I'd recommend it.

Ok, I'm really gonna get up this time. Lucky you, you have no lag time today.