This weekend I was emotionally and physically drained. I definitely have some kind of stomach/intestinal flu; I can't keep anything but the BRAT (Bananas, Rice, Apple Juice, Toast) diet in my stomach. On top of that, like anything could get worse, I cleaned out my mom's attic of all the things I want and don't want to take with me to my new apartment on Friday.

I sifted through pictures, sweaters, magazine collages, and "Do I really need this candle from the senior prom in '95?" I sat with my dozen journals and read through some of them. I read my first date (Nov. 19, 1994) with my ex, Travis, and the first time J. and I had sex (March 27, 1998)--me losing my less-than-holy virginity. Interestingly, I found this from a religious web site: "Heaven's Gate came to public attention when they committed mass suicide on March 27, 1997." Interesting....

I could touch on the subject that J. calls me a sexual "late bloomer" and if I had known what I was missing in sex, I probably would have done it before. Not necessarily true, I said to him. Though my relationship with Travis was incredibly intense, heavily sexual, and soul-fully meaningful, our reasons for not actually penetrating (sorry), were beyond the Christian guilt we both felt to some extent. I have always relied heavily on my intuition and it definitely told me to stay away. We were too young, maybe we met at the wrong time, and I really didn't want to take on the responsibility that sex (unfortunately) is. Good girls always have to carry such a heavy load on their backs.

But that's a completely different and exhaustive topic that I will write about sometime. The whole story of Travis is interesting, but I'm not sure that I want to tackle it NOW. In a nutshell, he was 3 years younger, I believe we had a spiritual connection (although it may have been just need for reckless nakedness--minus the penetrating sex, remember), we promised we'd get married, we broke up after a year and a couple of months and I haven't seen him since.

So, back to my attic, I think I tossed out a lot of stuff. It was painful to see all the things I've squirrelled away, saving them for my future daughters and sons to look at and laugh at, tossed in a trash bag.

The fact that my mom's house smelled like summer was depressing. I miss last summer, but I am so glad that we will actually have our own place. Deeply drawing in the smell of the warm attic, the new shoots of plants, and the cicadas just coming out in the yard, I crept through the dark house and remembered meeting J. at the door late at night. We would sneak up to the attic to spend time alone, pretending it was our own sexual cathedral. I just have to keep reminding myself that we will make our own life now.

J. has been giving me the money he makes in tips (waitering) so that he's not tempted to spend it. He has a couple hundred to make before Friday. It's cutting it close and of course I'm nervous. I don't like being his personal bank because this could be a good opportunity for him to learn self-control. On the one hand, everything with me has to be a cliched learning experience, but I don't want to be leaned on. My wall goes up again.