Day Two of Sick As Hell, but getting better. No fever now, but I can’t hear out of my right ear, my head is stuffy, and my throat was swollen last night to the point of intense pain. This morning I’m better, though my head is swimming about because I’ve only seen about three hours of sleep in the last two days. Tonight I hope to get enough sleep to be sharp enough that I’m not stumbling about like I don’t know what I’m doing.
I was in decent enough shape last night, though, that I could write. I wanted to get back into Chapter Ten, and it was a good time to do so, because I’d only need about a thousand words to get the job done. So I got into it, and I was right: it took a few words over a thousand to finish Chapter Ten, and now it’s time to move onto pillow talk between my two main characters.
With it being Valentine’s Day today, it’s a bit interesting that last night my muse (not my Muse, just to keep things straight) thought about how her newest charge was going to be another in a very long line of lovers, and that she’d remember him all the way until the end of time, well beyond the time when he is not only forgotten by his descendants, but by history as well. Creatures who are not human, who do have recollections that go back thousands of years, could be expected to remember every encounter they’ve had, every touch they’ve experienced, every kiss that’s graced their lips. As I said in the story, for Erin the Muse it’s both a gift and a curse, because while she can remember all the good times, she will also remember the bad–and there is now way you couldn’t go through thousands of years of encounters with people and never have a bad relationship spring up.
I’m not a muse; there are no thousands of relationships in my life that I can remember, much less write about. The reality is I can count on both hands the number of relationships I’ve had, and still have a few fingers left over. I don’t regret this–and there’s little I could do if I decided to regret my choices. It is what it is, and not even a TARDIS is going to save you from your own time line.
There are also a few that I’d rather not remember. One in particular, the family hatted me with a passion, and that didn’t help when it came to developing a romance. There is one that I do regret ever getting into, though it’s not one most people who know me would understand the reasons why it was such a bad thing for me.
There are others, however, that I will always remember. They showed me things I didn’t know were possible; they allowed me to achieve an intimacy that had never been there. And if I can borrow from Mr. Spock (D. C. Fontana, actually, as she was the one who put the words in his mouth), there is one where it was easy to say, “For the first time in my life, I was happy.”
The one thing I don’t want to know is: do they remember me? And do they remember me with any sort of fondness.
I guess I’ll never know, or even want to.
It’s better that way.