2006-04-05 - 9:41 p.m. There are times when I'm talking to her, walking with her, when I can't believe things are this way. She does things, small things, that are so incredible; she'll make up a little song, five or six words, in a high pitched tone, and then stop and say, "I made that up for you." Then she'll start giggling. She laughs at so much. She giggles and chuckles and flat out belly laughs. She'll fake laugh, make up laughs with me. I'll go "huhhuhuh" in a deep voice, and she'll respond, and it will just be five minutes of us laughing deeply until we smoothly transition into some new topic. She says her laugh is monkey like, and I tell her to shut up. She says it is annoying and I tell her to shut up. I say stop it, it is the best laugh ever. It is warm and honest and true. She means it, you can tell that she means it and so when I say something over the phone and she begins to laugh I can hear the smile. Somehow, through some magic of physics, her smile is transmitted over miles, through electrons, sent into space, spent back to me, translated and morphed into this quiet softness in my ear. She can take the most serious things and become amused by them. I had a bad experience with her roommate and candy, and she promised me she'd buy me some more candy. She said, "really, all I have to give you that is special is candy. Oh, and my virginity." And then she started to giggle, which made me laugh. "You can't say that with a straight face, can you?" "Hee, no." We talk about marriage like it is nothing. Like it is a given. We make up the goofiest things ever, how I will have a roadie run up and slide a stool under me, hand me a guitar, prop up a mic stand, and a fog machine will begin fogging up when it is my turn to say my vows. I thought I would be scared when I felt like this. And I am, to a small extent. But it's not that I'm scared of making plans with her, of seeing the future and talking about different beliefs on how we would raise our kids, of talking about adoption. All of that is fine and good and easy to do. I'm scared to death of hurting her. Terrified of it. To the extent that thinking about doing something that could somehow break her heart makes me want to rather kill myself than look her in the eyes again. I need to sleep. Keep on trucking, you in the red. previous - next