As the idea arises and the time approaches, nausea. It stays until first contact. Draw nearer. Breathe. Touch, then part. Aspects previously unacquainted meet and exchange greetings. The urge to vomit vanishes completely.

The need to breathe presents itself, demanding attention.

Draw apart. Inhale. Inspired by the separation, the nausea returns.

Quickly, return. It is good. Together, nervousness gone, two halves of an unknowing whole become complete.

Sometimes, dreams don't know the half of it. Sometimes, nine years is worth the wait and, sometimes, plans don't work out but the number seven finds a way to be damn lucky anyway.

His eyes flashed angrily at her, as his former amusement at her ambiguious playfulness crossed the line into annoyance, and finally, exasperation. "What do you want me to say, huh? Just what are you looking to hear?"

Pleased to have finally received more of a response from him than a dopey enchanted smile, she flashed a genuine grin and flopped down on the bed next to him, hesitating for only a second before laying her head across his lap and gazing up at him adoringly. "You know, sweetheart, smart girls want to be told they're pretty, and pretty girls only want to hear that they're smart. That, in a nutshell, is any man's guide to seduction. Use it well, my good man."

He stared down at her intently, his frown replaced by a thoughtful look. "And what do you tell a girl who is both intelligent and beautiful...darling?"

Her eyes narrowed and she raised a single eyebrow. Laughing, she put a finger on his nose and spoke with mock sincerity. "There are no girls who are both, of course. Or both equally, anyway. And if, by some freak of nature such a specimen was produced, she would probably be quite, quite evil...or otherwise lacking in personality."

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "Oh, is that so?"

"Oh, yes." Her finger drifted from the tip of his nose, caressing his cheek. Both their smiles faded. She sat up quickly and jumped off the bed, choosing to sit in a chair nearby and facing him.

He frowned again. "I don't want to go through this anymore."

"Then why are you here? I can't help it, you know that. I don't know what's going on inside my head." She looked down at the floor and drew her knees to her chest, hugging herself.

He stood up and knelt on the floor beside her chair, looking up at her, his hands on either side of her feet. Silently pleading with her, he put a hand on her thigh and one on her cheek, gently turning her head to make her face him. "And your heart?"

She closed her eyes as a tear fell onto the finger he'd placed on her cheek. Her voice only the slightest bit shaky, she said, "I think you should go."

His hands dropped to his sides. After a moment, he stood. "Fine."

After he left she stayed in the same position, wrapped in her own arms. Eventually the tears dried up and she opened her eyes. She got up and started cleaning her room, trying not to think and failing. Soon she finished and lay in bed awaiting sleep, thinking of him. Tossing and turning, tormented by her own thoughts, she could only wonder What if he had stayed? and What if I could only say what I feel?

She dreamed about him that night, and many after.

Within the past 48 hours, I have faced physical pain the likes of which I can find no comparison for in the stores of my memory. I underwent minor invasive surgery under local anesthetic, which hurt like hell anyway...but that was nothing compared to what I felt two hours later when the local anesthetic wore off.

It is quite an experience to be sitting on the couch calmly watching television at one moment, and crying and writhing on the floor in nearly intolerable pain at the next. My mom said "relax, everything will be alright" reassurances while she herself was almost on the verge of panic trying to get ahold of a medical professional somewhere.

As I managed to sit back on the couch, holding my arm, but still sobbing softly, she brought out the painkillers - heavy-duty prescription painkillers left over from her surgery a year ago. All I wanted was relief from the blessed pain. Whether it lessened, stopped, or merely exited my awareness because of my dropping suddenly into unconsciousness, I didn't care. I reached for a pill, but then stopped. What if it interfered with the antibiotics I was taking? What if it interacted badly with them and produced some awful side effects? What if they were too strong, or too old, and put me into a drug-induced coma?

I decided to wait fifteen minutes and see if it became bearable.

In four, it was. Though I was exhausted, I was also pleased with my eventual ability to tolerate my body's agony.

The pain had faded, but was still present. I was shaken and my eyes were wet. And in this rather pathetic state, I realized that though I may not have as many friends as some of the people I know, the ones I do claim as my own are great people, and awesome friends. Because in the aftermath of my injury, I could think of at least four people I could call who would talk me through it, or come over and hold my hand through it, to help me as best as they could. And I wouldn't have to worry about them judging me or thinking less of me for it, either.

It was a moment of clarity in more ways than one, I guess. While I was growing up, there were things that I swore would always come first in my life, and I haven't been giving them their proper attention. Priorities change, true, and that can be a good thing, but it shouldn't happen without being noticed.

It's time I stop ignoring, or taking for granted, the things that are really important. I have a bad habit of putting people first in my life who have no right to be there, and it's time that stops, among other things.

Tomorrow, I'll hitch up my pants, change my bandages, and re-enter the world with a less-skewed view of life. Maybe. Or maybe I'll spend more time thinking about it first. I'm not sure. But regardless, I'm tired of being so constantly inconsistent. New years are times for new beginnings, and I want to make a change.