A/N: Jim's starting a journal leads to Blair ending a journal. Sequel to "Entry One" as with that story, picture this as being in Blair's handwriting (hence the underlining rather than italics).
Warning : I desperately needed something happy, and this is just OTT sap -- but that's the whole premise, really. I didn't even realize until I was halfway through that this was obviously a sequel to Entry One (especially since I had no intention of writing one), and once I figured it out it got even more out there. :-) But it makes me smile a lot, and I can really use that today.
Oh this is just disgusting! I think I'm going to have to stop keeping a journal until we get through the honeymoon period, because I just can't stand the sap anymore!
I mean, how is it that taking up with an almost-forty big buff male cop has turned me into a girl? A pathetic head-over-heels teeny-bopper? "Oh, he's just dreamy! Those eyes are so blue they're like pieces of sky, except when he looks at me like that, then they seem to burn like blue flame..." I'm going to vomit, I swear. OK, so maybe it isn't quite that bad, but it's bad enough.
I could hope that some of his tough-guy persona would rub off on me when he, well, rubs off on me... I mean jeez, I'm not even bottoming, much -- he wants me in him, whenever and wherever possible, and I'm more than happy to oblige.
Hell, I'm just plain "more than happy." I'm ecstatic, beside myself, over the moon, blissful, exultant, joyful, jubilant, triumphant, elated, overjoyed. And yeah, I had to get out the thesaurus, me, because words fail me these days -- I just walk around with a big goofy grin permanently glued to my face.
The one thing that makes all this sweetness and light crap bearable is the fact that it's not just me. I never thought I'd see Mr. Stoicism himself smiling all the time, that special, beautiful smile that just transforms his face -- oh shit, there I go again! I can't stand it!
I told him, back at the beginning of all this, that of course he shouldn't begin the entries in his new -- and short-lived -- journal with "Dear Diary," because he wasn't a 13-year-old girl in 1956. And apparently the gods heard me and in their capricious fashion decided to turn me into a 13-year-old girl in 1956. Well, at least as far as the journal entries go ("We had a picnic today -- it was so romantic!"). I guess the gay sex thing at least partly negates the overall teenage girl impression. I hope.
At any rate, even though we still have our usual snarky arguments, they're more likely to end in laughter and/or sex these days, and we just don't show any signs of being ready to leave that sickly-sweet honeymoon phase. It's been six weeks since Jim started a journal because I thought it would help him with his repression issues, and he came to my room 15 minutes later, telling me he was done with the journal, he'd figured out what I wanted him to, he loved me and he was pretty sure that I loved him, and could we forget the journal and get on to the sex part?
I haven't disillusioned him yet and told him that I didn't expect him to figure out any such thing, that I never thought we would reach this point, the two of us finally sharing everything, a true partnership in every sense of the word, inextricably linked in so many ways... I thought he could never return all the feelings that I had -- have -- for him, that he would always stay at the "pat his head" stage and never move to "pat his ass"... I was resigned to my fate of unrequited love and passion and ARGH!
OK, this is it!! Now I've gone from the "he's such a hunk" stereotype to the "he'll never notice me" stereotype and I have had enough!
I won't say that this is the end, since my journal has been a constant in my life since I was 8 years old -- but a definite hiatus is in order here. Until I can get back to my usual "I love Jim but he can be such an asshole" and not just "Mmm, I love Jim's asshole," I'm outta here.