Thoughts on Ellie B's wedding, except of course that's not really what they're thoughts about at all...

He’s not sleeping.

I know he’s not sleeping.

And now this: he can’t even flirt with me. I’m all dressed up, looking pretty good, though maybe not as, well, a m a z i n g as I have on other occasions. But surely looking good enough for him to flirt with me.

And he, might I say, still looks pretty good in a tux. I wonder who did his tie for him?

I miss the intimacy of that.

Let’s be real, here: I miss the flirting.

Which I know is wrong, because after the flirting I would end up at home eating ice cream and drinking wine and throwing things at my flatmate’s cat (oh, wait, no – that’s someone else) and more often than not – sobbing my heart out into my pillow, hoping my flatmate wouldn’t hear, because how pathetic is that? The little secretary’s unrequited crush on her handsome, driven, ambitious, intelligent boss. Ugh. I hate the cliché. Hate it.

Do I really want that? That daily heartbreak? The feeling pathetic?

No. Of course I don’t want that.

I don’t want that part of it. But I miss the flirting part. The part where just for a few minutes, a few seconds, a few hundredths of a second sometimes, I see in his eyes what I saw at Inauguration or at the Hospital or that snowy December 23rd. Well, that wasn’t his eyes. That was him almost giving himself away with his words. But I miss that part too.

Not the emotions that hit afterwards. I don’t miss those. I miss the kidding-myself-that-this-might-be-ever-going-somewhere seconds. I miss those moments when I’m almost sure I see my own feelings reflected in his beautiful eyes.

I miss our intimacy.

I miss looking after him. He’s not sleeping. I doubt a vegetable has crossed his line of sight, let alone his lips, in a good few months now.

He can’t even flirt with me.

I know, I k n o w what I said about the peppermint creams. But he’s not okay, and someone needs to look after him, and I want that to be me. Not just because I can’t bear the thought of that being anyone else, though I will freely(ish) admit that’s a large part of it. Just because...

Because...

Oh, for Pete's sake, Donna. Say it. It’s a diary. No one is ever going to read it. You need to face facts so you can deal with them.

Because looking after him is what I want to do for the rest of my life. And have him look after me.

And have him tell me I look amazing more than once every eight years.

Oh, good grief. How did I end up back at Square One? How?

Focus, girl. There’s an election in six weeks. And you really want to win this thing. Remember?

After, after the "interview" or whatever that was...

Well, to hell with him. I’ll show him. I’m not doing this for him, anyway. Not anymore. I’m doing it for us – not him and me us, there isn’t one of those, never has been, never will be, I mean us as in the Party, us as in the nation, because a Republican President is in nobody’s best interests. Well, nobody that I like anyway. Except perhaps Cliff.

So I’m doing it for the nation. And a little bit for me. Why, after all, can a campaign not be a place to reinvent yourself and heal? To find your confidence and start over? Why can’t it be those things?

Look how well that worked out last time round. Ha.

I’ve found my corner and I will work harder than I’ve ever worked in my life and I’ll show him – I mean, me, I’ll show me, because it’s not about him anymore. I’ll show me, like Maria von Trapp, I have confidence that spring will come again... besides which you see I have confidence in me. So there.

Ahem. Whatever. I think I need to get some sleep now.

Ten years on from In Excelsis Deo: looks like we made it...

Ten years.

Can you believe it’s been ten years?

I can when I look at the photos of me, of us, from those days. Me so fresh faced. Josh with so much, well, so much hair. And perhaps a few fewer shadows under his eyes and wrinkly lines on his forehead. Those wrinkly lines I love, but still...

The book sits on a shelf higher than any potential damage that could come to it and sometimes when he’s late home from work or when the East and West Wings have worked well together or, more often, when they haven’t and I need to remind myself what it means for him and me to be a team, I pull it down and I read it, over and over again. And it never fails: pride and joy and pain knot together in my stomach until they are all overwhelmed with my love for him, with his for me.

Pain? Yes. Because man, those years. Loving someone that much and having to live in denial? Every day? Working just a kissing distance away from him? For nine years? Seriously. You try it sometime. It’s not a lot of fun.

But pride and joy. So much of those. I wouldn’t trade the memories of those for anything.

You are, quite simply, indispensable.

I know it’s a cliché, and I know Sam taught him to hate those, but my heart leapt when I read that. Did a little somersault right there inside me in the bullpen in the West Wing in the White House. Somewhere in those powerful halls was a fresh-faced blonde who felt for one moment that she was more than just a cog. That somehow she was holding the whole thing together, or at least holding together the man who helped to hold it all together.

Right there and then I knew. I knew: I want to work with this man for the rest of my life. Not as his assistant – as his partner – eventually. Right there and then I decided: my dream is to learn as much as I can from him, and to become all I can be, and to continue to work with him, on an equal footing. But it was him who drew me there. Him and his all-encompassing passion to make the world a better place. As he also wrote, we make a great team. Now that we’re more like equals than ever, it’s still true.

It took me a while to realise that I wanted more than just a work partnership; to understand why when I dreamed of children way out there in the future they always seemed to have fluffy hair and dimples and Jewish-sounding names.

It took that awful night at Rosslyn for me to realise not only the depth of my feelings for him but also the nature of them. This man was no big brother; not even just an attractive boss I had a slight crush on or a soft spot for. This man was HIM. You know, like in the song, “I’ve found the one I waited for... Gonna love you till the seas run dry...” I’d found him and I’d almost lost him, all at the same time, and it was all too much, and I don’t know how I stayed in one piece that night and the nights that followed. Looking after him held me together in a weird way, though every step of it was painful and I still feel sick when I think about it.

That was nine years ago. And he’s still the one I run to. The one I want for life.

Looks like we made it. Look how far we’ve come...

Mission Accomplished

Well, I did.

I did have a good teacher.

And not just in politics. I’m getting better at those one-line put-downs. Delivered with a smile, but chilling for the other guy. Is it wrong that I'm kind of proud of that? Proud of my own imperviousness, my own resilience?

And man, am I proud of myself for being able, for finding it in myself, to do that to Josh.

Because it means – it must mean, mustn't it? – that I’m finally moving on.

I left to find myself.

Mission accomplished.

I left to find out who I was apart from him. To see whether I could learn, could grow, could be more, do more.

To see, too, whether I would ever be able to prise my heart back from him.

Mission accomplished.

I just wish there wasn’t a tiny part of me that was so ashamed for finding it in myself to do that to Josh.

New Hampshire

You should be with me.

Well, yes, Josh, and I would be if we’d had the conversation I wanted and you’d told me your plans. Timing was against us. Well, mainly your busy schedule and your unwillingness to put me first was against us.

I hate that I’m not with you.

I hate even more that I’m against you.

I hate that Will uses that to his advantage.

Don’t you think I would rather be with you? I know there's been all that water under those bridges... but I also know you were there in Germany waiting for me to wake up. You were there. I thought... Oh, it doesn't matter. I'm not putting it black on white. But I did really think...

And then nothing.

Nothing from you, just a bit more of the same banter, a bit more devotion, from time to time, enough to keep me hoping. Just enough to keep me dangling...

I waited, I thought maybe, this time, maybe...

And I thought when I quit, that maybe...

But nothing.

And if my personal life isn't getting the lift I've so foolishly been hoping for all these years, then at least I've made the right decision with my professional life. Oh, how I'd love to be with you. But I can't do it anymore, Josh. I just can't. It's not fun anymore. It's gut-wrenching. I just can't. This way I can at least focus on the job. As much as you can when your heart is breaking.

You should be with me.

What I wouldn’t have given to have you say that to me every time I went out with one of my gomers.

What I wouldn't have given to have you say that before it was too late.

It's too late now.

You had your chance, you had eight years, you had a campaign to run, and if you hadn't held onto me so tight as your assistant, you could have had me... in so many more ways.

You should be with me.

You know what? That ship’s sailed. I know you’re hurting. But you’re not a child and you need to take some adult personal responsibility. Please don’t lash out at me. If you can’t be adults about this, I’m getting my bristles out too. I have to protect myself.

You should be with me.

Well, yes.

Iowa

Tired. Tired. So tired.

Mom called yesterday and reminded me that normal people my age (with normal jobs) do not get up at 5.45 am seven days a week, for like, well forever, and asked me if I was doing okay.

The thing is, Mom, when I have ever been happy being a "normal person my age"? Hmmm? I know you'd like me to be. I know you'd like me to settle down and get married and get a nice office job that doesn't involve coffee beans and freezing to death in the snow listening to crazy people's views on how we shouldn't have income tax. You know what, part of me would like that too.

But I don't know if you will every understand how it feels to have been given this second chance at life.

I don't want to waste life anymore. Not one second of it. And if that means getting a little less sleep for a while...

Still, I'm tired.

Tired of all those buses and planes and meetings and late nights and early mornings and then all the smiling and nodding and intent listening and all the happy smilingness required to keep believing we can win, to keep wanting us to win.

Where's the buzz of that first campaign? Why do I feel like my heart is not in this? Not like it was? Is it just that I'm older and more jaded?

Tired, tired, so tired of fighting with Josh, fighting against him, tired of all these conflicting emotions that I don't have the time or the energy to analyse...

I miss him.

He's just there. Just the other side of this door. It's so pathetic that I want him to knock. But I don't want him to at the same time. It's weird and it's horrible and I miss the old Josh, the gather-your-rosebuds Josh, I miss us being us.

What I wouldn't give for one of his hugs. You know, from the old days, when we were Josh and Donna. When we were, let's be honest, "will-they-won't-they" - and not "well, I guess they haven't, and they won't, and that's that".

Or even before that, before I really realised how I felt. That hug from that second Christmas. That's the kind of hug I need. It's the kind of friend I need.

I'm so tired...

I'm leaving you

Josh,

This is one of those letters my counsellor suggested would be helpful for me to write, not to, you know, actually give you (heaven forbid that we might actually discuss our emotions), but because it might help me somehow. I’m sure she explained how, but there’s always so much I don’t remember in those sessions, it drives me crazy. I have to fight the urge not to make index cards in there, fight it with every muscle in my body. And this is exactly why. Anyway, I digress, which is something she says I do a lot. I guess you’d say the same.

There’s another reason I’m writing, too, and I know this might sound weird, although if you are reading this it will all make sense and you will be nodding your head. It may sound melodramatic, but if anything were to, well, happen to me I would want you to know this stuff.

I want you to know that I am not leaving you, although it will feel like that to you, and goodness knows this heart-breaking, gut-wrenching decision feels like that to me. Leaving this job – leaving you – is the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make.

And I do have to make it, Josh, and I know you won’t understand, but here’s the thing: not only do I only get one career, I only get one life. And I want it to count. I want to grow and I want to learn and I want to figure out if politics is really it for me, if it’s enough to drive me, or if it’s your passion that’s been energising me all these years and I’ve been running on someone else’s fuel.

I have to figure out who I am and what I want from life and when I’m with you all day every day I simply can’t see past the fact that what I want from life is, in fact, you.

And that because of that my dreams are tied up with yours and my successes and failures are all about yours, and I feel as if I’m losing myself, in fact I’m not really sure I've ever known who I am, really. My heart has been yours for so long that I don’t remember how it felt before.

I love looking after you, peppermint cream bits and all. I love that we’re such an effective team. I love that I’m the one you come to when you’re drunk in the middle of the night.

But I also hate that it’s all I am. I hate that my giving to you, my looking after you, can only go so far. A wise person forced me to look the truth in the face recently and she was right. It’s you that’s been keeping me here, you and my feelings for you and the certainty I’d be lost without you.

I can’t do it anymore, Josh. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that life is too short. I can’t come into work every day and pretend I’m happy being just your assistant and tying your shoelaces for you. It's not that I don't glady do all that. But I can’t do it in this role anymore. It’s been too long, I love you too much, and I’m too confused about life, and I don’t want to blow it.

And I need to get some air. I need to discover that I would not, in fact, be lost without you. I need to figure out how to be me, who I am, apart from you. I need to learn some more and try some new things and forge an identity for myself that doesn’t revolve around you.

That scares the hell out of me.

A huge part of me would so much rather stay in my comfort zone. I’m comfortable with you.

And man, oh man, I don’t want to leave you.

I hope, I hope you know that I am not doing this to hurt you.

But what I’m not comfortable with is the nagging accusation in the back of my brain that I’m allowing myself to be chained to a desk because I’m in love with my boss. If feminism has taught us anything – and not the ridiculous, bra-burning feminism (I’ll pause here while you regroup – mentioning bras may have been a mistake) but the sensible sort, lipstick feminism I think Ainsley once called it – it’s that we are not to expect our lives to somehow count less than men’s. That we are not to put our lives on hold for men. And for years now that’s what I have been doing. Or maybe it really has been my life too. But I just don’t know. And I need to figure it out.

So maybe in a way I am leaving you. Trial separation, let’s call it that. Like couples on the brink of divorce who try one last ditch attempt and hope they will realise they can’t live without each other.

Part of me, of course, would really much rather not come to that conclusion. Part of me hopes I can leave this desk, be done with you, done with this job, shake my head at how silly I’ve been, and walk away unscathed into new adventures and who knows maybe even new relationships.

But part of me desperately, desperately wants to come to the conclusion that you and I are in fact meant to be. That we are nothing without each other. That we do in fact have the same driving passions. That we do, well, fit. But of course, it’s all very well me coming to that conclusion, but unless you get there too, then it’s all pretty much a waste of energy.

So I’m giving us both this way out, even though I know you won’t want it. But maybe in time it will be for the best.

Maybe, just maybe, you will realise not just that you can’t function without me professionally but that deep down, emotionally, as a human being, you can’t function without me either. When that’s down on paper it sounds so arrogant. But to be ruthlessly honest, and this surely is the place for that, then that’s what I’m hoping we’ll both conclude. That we need each other desperately. And if we don’t, then it’s better for both of us that I’m out of here, so we can get on with our lives.

If we are meant to be – if I’ve not misread things, and I could not be less sure of how you feel about me – then I’m sure it will all come out in the wash. Who knows, maybe it will bring you to your senses and you will remember some of that wise advice of mine and try the wooing thing.

If we’re not, then I need to get my head together, and start making the most of this second chance I’ve been given at life. I don’t want to waste it, Josh. I don’t want to waste it pining after my boss. Life is too precious.

I love you, Josh, and that’s why I’m leaving you.

No Exit... well, I'm going to find one!

I couldn’t face him. I couldn’t look at him.
I had to get out of there, clear my head, get some air.
I wish I could say she was wrong.

But man, are they right when they say it’s the truth that hurts most of all – though admittedly it could have been delivered slightly more kindly. More gently. And maybe a few years ago.

It felt like something she had been trying not to say for so long, that just came rushing out when I pressed the wrong buttons. And I don't know why I did that. Well, I do - self-defence. I was hurting. But that was badly calculated. It just led to more truth, and therefore more hurt.

I like CJ, I love her even, I respect her, in so many ways I want to be like her. So hearing that from her...

But I do wish she’d been kinder about it. Maybe coffee and chocolate to soften the blow, you know.

But she’s right. Of course she’s right.

And you know what? She’s right too that I need to sort myself out. It’s been long enough. My heart and my life have belonged to him for long enough.

It’s time for some new adventures.
Right after I sort out my running mascara...

Disaster management

I feel so helpless.
Reach out to me, Josh. Let me in.
Let me hold you.
Yeah. I think we both know that can't happen.
I'm way past the point of trusting myself just to hold you.
But I so want to hold you together. With duct tape if that's what it takes.

I want you to know how amazing you are. I want you to know that we all make mistakes and screw up and make bad calls and beat ourselves up about it and you're no worse than anyone else ... In fact, you may be most amazing man I've ever with, will ever measure.

You take it so hard. I understand why. I just wish there was something I could do.

Something I could do to make you believe in yourself again.
Something I could do to bash these people's heads together and make them see how amazing you are.
Something I could do to take this pain from you, this tension.

Let me in, Josh. I hate when you're like this.

When you hurt I'm hurting too. You feel helpless. And I feel helpless because there's nothing I can do to take that feeling from you.

You should bear in mind all the things that you do right.

You should bear in mind that ... I'm here. I'll even make you coffee if you like. Foot massage. Hug. The love of a good woman. Anything.

See how self-sacrificing I am.

Well, I've managed to make myself smile at least. Which is something, I guess. But what I wouldn't give to see your dimples again this week ...

4th July 2003

He probably thinks I didn’t notice.
I always notice.

And then I go home, put on When Harry Met Sally, have a good cry, drink wine, eat Ben and Jerry’s Half-Baked ice cream, and pull myself together.

4th July. Independence Day. I am a strong, independent woman and I will not be reduced to a snivelling wreck by a man.

Not by this man.
Not again.

Are you in love with Josh? What was that, a warning shot? A pre-emptive strike? Watch out girl, if you are, because I’m gonna steamroller over you...

WHAT IS HE DOING WITH HER?

Surely the spell should be broken by now?

Anyway. I’ll go for white tonight. And maybe Cookie Dough. Just, you know, for a change.

So, am I? (and a million other questions)

It's 5am and Josh sent me home to get some sleep. Sleep! At a time like this. Obviously,I'm desperately worried about Zoey – we all are – so many unanswered questions - and I’m worried too that Josh will be somehow feeling guilty about this too.

But, mostly, I’m tossing and turning and replaying that conversation with Amy and wondering what do I do now? I mean, if it’s that glaringly obvious...

From the moment the words were out of my mouth – you gotta get Josh­ – and she looked at me like that, I knew. I could feel, hear almost, my heart beating faster and louder. I knew that I’d just gone down the path of no return. That any idiot would take about five seconds to reach the conclusion that Amy, being no idiot, whatever else she may be, reached in about one.

That I get him. That I’m tuned to him. That we know each other so intimately that it’s hard to believe we are just boss and assistant, sometimes even hard to believe that our relationship has never gone beyond friendship, and quite possibly never will.

I wish she wouldn’t bring him up like that. And then ask me for advice. What does she want from me? Is it just that she wanted to confirm what she knew all along and just led me there a strange and convoluted way? But why would she do that? For the same jealous, protective reasons that I sometimes do things? Who knows.

Maybe in a weird way she blames me for them not working out, and maybe that helps her. You know what? I secretly hope she does blame me. No, that’s not really what I mean. What I mean is that I hope (vainly, I realise) that I am the reason. And I hate that I hope that. It’s so juvenile, so, well, ugly. (But if I can’t be honest in my diary...)

I was just starting to like her and get on with her and manage to put all that behind me. It was kinda fun working together and getting a bit tipsy together. I hate those jealous feelings that rise up in me when I think about... I don’t like the person I feel myself becoming in those moments. This fierce protectiveness. It’s so unattractive. But, seemingly, unavoidable.

I hated it when she was with him, and now I can see why. Obviously, there’s the whole jealousy thing. But she still doesn’t know him (like I do, I might add). How can she have been with him all that time and not understand the fear that drives him? And how was it ever going to work with someone who just, well, didn’t get him, didn’t see to the very core of him as a person, as a vulnerable man who needs to be cared for and looked after? Did she never get past the arrogant, I’m-always-right, it’s-all-about-the-politics exterior? How is that possible after all that time with him? Did she just not care enough about him to find out? And how could he possibly bear to be with someone who couldn’t see into the depths of his soul?

He deserves better than that. So much better.

And anyway, am I in love with Josh?

Is it not just a soft spot for a very good friend, as I’ve been intermittently trying to tell myself all these years? It would make things a lot less... complicated. Be a lot more ... convenient. But has the disadvantage of, well, not being especially true.

And what the hell am I meant to do with this information?

Huh?

Someone tell me that... someone... anyone?! Wonder if Amy is still awake. Maybe I should call her. Ha!

Are you in love with Josh?

What kind of question is that?

I stared at the diary for way longer than I needed to, to compose myself, before I replied.

I hope I played it right.

Inauguration and snowballs

Wow.

My heart is beating so fast that I'm surprised I can even hold a pen.

Where to start? Where to even start writing about this?

I think perhaps by stating this: I am a woman very much in love.

I know you knew that. I suspect it’s blindingly obvious to anyone who has been watching me. But there have been times when I doubted it. There have been times I was unaware of it. There have been times when the very thought of being so much as infatuated with this infuriating man... well, you get the picture.

But, oh my goodness, tonight. He has never looked so incredibly attractive as when he told me I looked amazing (!!! :) !!!). I have never seen such tenderness in him. Tenderness – for me. Unmistakable, for once.

So unmistakable, in fact, that I’m re-assessing many of the ambiguous moments of the last few years in this new light.

Well, re-assessing sounds very level-headed and practical, and I can assure you that right now I am feeling neither of those things. My feet have not touched the ground since my window got attacked by snowballs.

Who said romance was dead?

He couldn’t even finish telling me off properly. He didn’t even flinch before his gave me his coat.

Maybe there’s more to this than just a daydream. Maybe he has those daydreams too.

The dictionary definition of “wistful”, by the way, is this: full of longing or unfulfilled desire.

Not for much longer... hopefully. Come on, Josh. You’re da man.

You’re certainly mine.

No more sailors. I don’t care how many buttons or sabres they have.

You, in a tux from Gary’s, is fine by me.

Oh, my goodness. So much more than fine.

Finally, Hawaii!!

I don't think there is even a word for what I'm experiencing right now. I've looked in the thesaurus, and I can't find anything.

Happiness doesn't even begin to describe it.

Ecstasy is too short-lived.

Contentment - definitely not enough raw passion in that.

Paroxysms of delight- I read that in "Inevitable", the novel that Josh's cousin Claire wrote and that I'm so glad I made time to read. Highly recommended. You will laugh, you will cry, you will throw the book at the wall in frustration. Anyway, I digress.

Euphoria - An intense or exaggerated feeling of well-being or elation. Well, it's definitely intense(ardent, burning, consuming, fervent) but it is not exaggerated. It's a perfectly natural reaction given the circustances.

Because Josh and I -

Wow, well, there it is. Just that phrase. "Josh and I". "We." Wow.

What do you call all those things mixed together plus the release of years of frustration and just this sense that wow, finally, after all this time, that which I'd given up hoping for has come to pass, and I want it more than ever, and it's everything I have dreamed of, and more...?

I guess the smack high analogy will have to do us for now.

I'm going on vacation with Josh.

Josh and I are going on vacation.

Together.

Without a blackberry.

Just the two of us. Hawaii. (He does listen, it would appear.) And a lot of - fun. Maybe a few serious conversations. But mainly, fun.

The Donna of eight years ago would be doing cartwheels right now.

This Donna is, too, but she's managing to keep them inside for now. I'm not really sure how.

Now, where did I put that bikini?

Holy Nights and elephants

“It’s not what it looks like.”

What did he mean?

Man, I wish he would just come out and say what he means.

I’m just about running out of patience. And room in that metaphorical notebook where I keep a record of all the weird moments we are meant to ignore. (Well, okay, it’s not exactly metaphorical, since this is pretty much it.)

Let’s have this conversation, admit we are attracted to each other, decide it’s not a good idea that anything happens, but that maybe, in four years... And then maybe kiss a little bit. And then maybe...

Anyway, I’m being whisked off in a helicopter to spend a snowy, romantic Christmas with a very attractive man who looks a little like Christian Slater. So I’m not complaining.

Though Josh getting me drunk at the Hawk and Dove does sound like it could have been nice.

Sometimes I think us getting horribly drunk is the only way we’re ever going to deal with this elephant. You know, the one in the room. The one in the bullpen. The one, according to Wikipedia, where “people in the room who pretend the elephant is not there might be concerning themselves with relatively small and even irrelevant matters, compared to the looming big one”.

Except, in our defence, the issues with which we concern ourselves are not small and definitely not irrelevant. Child poverty? I mean, come on.

But, still. We’re just going to leave this elephant there? Does one of us have to have a(nother) near-death experience or something? I hope not. That was stressful enough the first time round.

Maybe we can get drunk some other time instead. New Year, maybe?

Come on, Donna, get a grip, and focus on the happiness that is here, right in front of you, very, very pleasant, and, you know, real, and not all in your head.

So let's recap.

I really like Jack and he is very handsome. And also, let us not forget, able to, you know, do something about how he feels about me. He is also powerful. And, well, lovely. I really like him. Did I say that already?

So I’m off to my snowy Christmas... romance on the horizon. At last. Sigh.

(A contented sigh, for once. Not a wistful or longing or frustrated sigh. At least I don’t think so.)

Is Donna there?

Why did he lie? To CJ, I mean, about me being there with him.

They all know I spend an inordinate amount of time there, taking him lunch, sometimes even making him coffee (decaf, obviously – I don’t think he’s noticed yet), and generally, you know, looking after him and making sure the place doesn’t fall apart completely.

They all know that.

What they don’t know, though, is how much I am enjoying playing at being wife, and how difficult it is not to kiss him sometimes when I’m sitting on his bed, even when he hasn’t shaved and he’s still wearing the same scummy sweatshirt.

Or maybe they do know. And maybe he knows too, and he knows they know, and he wishes they didn't, or he didn't, or something, and that’s why he lied.

Sigh.

When did life get to be so complicated?

How are you feeling?

I was afraid of the depth of my emotions. I was afraid they would scare him; afraid, too, that once they were out there, they would scare me. Nine years' worth of desire, love, devotion, friendship, intimacy - lust too, let's not kid ourselves - all safely contained in this diary and locked away inside me. If a dam like that suddenly breaks, you can be overwhelmed.

How was I feeling?

Overwhelmed.

Not in control.

I like to be in control. This was a good not-in-control, but still, it's unfamiliar territory, so it's scary.

So I was getting ready to explain all that to him, once we both had our coffees to hold onto. I thought he might understand. It might not be so very different for him.

It was such an attentive question. Which shouldn't have surprised me. He's an atttentive lover. But it caught me off guard, because he doesn't do talking about emotion. The only other time he's asked me how I was feeling was in Germany. And probably a good thing too - it's not like I could have opened up to him about what was going on inside me, behind that dam...

In my daydreams, I used to ask him how he was feeling, and he would open up, and that was progress enough. I never expected it to be this way round. I wasn't prepared for it. I love it when he takes the lead. I will tell him that one day.

Damn everyone else's insomnia. I would have liked to talk, to have him hold me, to lose myself in those amazing eyes of his. I would have liked - loved - to have been as verbally intimate as we had been physically intimate, to be as close as possible in every way possible, at last, after all this time. But the moment's passed and it's not the easiest thing to recover.

And after I reacted the way I did, maybe he'll never ask me again. And I so want him to ask me. To ask me every day for the rest of our lives. I wanted to share everything, every emotion, everything with him. Like I've always wanted to.

And this might be it. Can it really be happening? On three hours' sleep and a rush of adrenaline like this one, everything seems a bit blurry...

Anyway. I wasn't lying. I do really want to win this thing. Win it with him. How amazing would that be?

The diary thing, addendum

Can you imagine?

Can you imagine if he HAD read my diary?

Oh, my goodness.

I would have to – have to – I don’t know. Resign or something. Which, to be fair, may have some advantages. But, still.

---

But. Does he know? Does he even need to read my diary? Sometimes I think he knows.

Sometimes I think the chemistry between us is so strong he can’t possibly not know.

Sometimes I could cut it with a knife.

Sometimes like tonight it feels like he feels the same. I thought for one minute maybe he was actually going to put his arm around me and let me relax against him.

All that tension. All that fear. All the stress of the last few days and my anger at myself for making him angry with me. All the shame.

I just wanted him to hold me. I think if he’d held me long enough all that tension would have gone.

Instead I’m taking Nurofen and going to bed. Not quite the same.

that first Primary...

He’s brilliant. I loved what he did with the Flanders.

But, wait. He is brilliant. But I did my bit too. We’re brilliant.

Like he said himself years ago in that book, we make a great team.

And why is it that wearing his coat, having his hand on my back and working alongside him like this makes me happier than going home to Cliff?

I think we know the answer to that.

Damn it. There’s that Square One again.

Yeah, but thinking about it...

Okay, so. Maybe I should actually take that job.

Not just to spite Josh, either.

It might be good for me. Career advancement, and all that. Something different on my résumé. I don’t see me going many places with just Josh Lyman’s (Senior) Assistant on there. Although it apparently didn’t hurt my cause for Capital Scoop.

Something new and exciting.

Not to mention the fact that if Josh and I weren’t working together....................

..............but he’s with Amy now. So I’ve missed the boat on that one.

And I, let us not forget, am very happy with Cliff.

So, about this job. Yes, something new and exciting. Something where I would not have to stand by and watch idly while wives are told their husbands have been shot in Congo for reporting on situations that the Government does not want made public. Wives with seven-month-old daughters called Donna. It’s so hard sometimes.

I so want to make a difference to people like that, and I have this idea that in my job now I really can, but the fact is – I really can’t. I’m just a cog in the wheel – but that wheel is making the world a better place, and I guess that’s what I need to hold onto.

And can I really see me walking away from Josh? Is there really anyone else I would rather work for?

I guess that’s that then.

Phew. I had myself worried for a minute.

Capital Scoop dot com

All I can offer you is a title bump?

Is that really how little he values me?

What happened to indispensable? A little bit of Donna, don't leave me would have been nice. Hrmph.

I should take that stupid job. Just to show him.

Back to life, back to reality...

Okay, back to reality.

It was a very nice note. It made me feel so happy. It made me realise how much he values me. Which is always good.

But it's back to work today and so I need to switch my work brain back on. And so all my daydreams need to go back in the drawer ready for such a time as I have more solid evidence to go on.

I sound like a lovesick schoolgirl when I go back and re-read what I've written. I've sort of felt like one over the last few days. And let me tell you, it has not been entirely unpleasant. But the thing with lovesick schoolgirls is that they tend to read too much into thigns.

It was a beautiful thing he wrote. I'm really grateful. But I must see it as a note of thanks to a colleague who has become a valued friend. If I continue believing it was anything other than that, I will go crazy. And I will probably do something I regret.

So go to work, Donnatella, be professional, be pleasant, and do not look too hard into those beautiful eyes. He is your boss, your friend, your soulm- oops, I did it again. He is your boss and maybe your friend. He values you very much and that is good. And not everyone is lucky enough to have a boss who actually expresses their appreciation. You are very fortunate. But you are not going to marry him.

Well, not this year, and probably not the one after that.

So take a deep breath. (And a lot of cold showers.)

Keep calm and carry on...

In excelsis deo...

Wow. I’m walking on air. (or should that be in the air, like that British snowman character? It is Christmas after all...)

Sentences like that one just go to show what today has done to me. I have, quite simply, lost it. I almost cried, for goodness’ sake. Right there in my bullpen. Right there, hugging him. Hugging him till I had to let go because, well, it was work, but I could have held him forever.

He’s a great hugger. Not everyone is good at that. But he puts his whole soul into his hugs. And I could have sworn he did that smelling my hair thing. We all know what that means.

Now my cheeks are aching from all the smiling.

You are, quite simply, indispensable. Essential to my well-being.
And I’m not just talking about the job.

I keep reading it. Over and over. Those are my favorite lines.

I’m indispensable to him. I make him who he is. We make a great team. He said that, too.

I’m indispensable. That means that he can’t live without me. Oh Josh. I don’t want to live without you either. Ever. I don’t want to have children and get old and have grandchildren with anyone else. You have ruined me for anyone else.

Oh, Josh. Go home and dream of your indispensable woman. Then come back after Christmas and kiss her...

I know what you’re thinking. (whoever you are. Like I’m gonna publish this to the world.) But leave me alone. It’s Christmas, and I will dream if I want to. When we go back to the office I will be nice and sensible and forget that maybe, just maybe, today I caught a glimpse of the fact that he cares about me as much as I care about him.

But it’s Christmas, and I will dream. I will dream of a future we can build together for ourselves, our family and ... our great nation.

I’m trying to be deep here but I keep getting mental images of lots of curly haired, dimpled Josh and Joshettes. But blonde. Like me. Okay. Getting ahead of myself here. First we need to – anyway, no, unhelpful to go there. Unhelpful but so... pleasant. So very, very pleasant.

But it’s Christmas, and I will dream if I want to. I will think happy thoughts and get ridiculously ahead of myself if I like. Work can wait. Reality can wait. And for a good few days I don’t even need to try and cover anything up. Which is nice.

Worrying about what he would think if he read this can also wait.

I’m off to re-read what he wrote.

I’m so happy. Did I mention that?

I love Christmas. Who needs skis anyway?

The diary thing...

Well, it turns out calling in sick was not an option. I got called to tribunal.

Josh, one day I am going to tell you how amazing you are and how much I love you and how I am so very thankful to you. Even if we are both 70 and happily married to other people. One day, I am going to thank you like you deserve to be thanked. Right now, I would cry if I tried it and I know you hate that. So I will contain myself.

You picked me up when I was on the floor. Again.

I betrayed you and hurt you and made you angry and you still fought my battle for me. That makes you my hero.

And everyone knows are irresistible heroes.

Heroes with dimples and forgiving hearts even more so.

So it looks like I'm back to square one. I do not think there can ever be anyone else for me.

Sigh. Yeah. We're back to the sighing.

a bit of an oversight

He was so angry. I made him so angry. Man, I hate that. I’m normally the one who calms him down when he’s mad.

He doesn’t own me, though, right? I can go out with whom I like. Right?

Right?

I understand why he was mad. I really do. But it hurt so much to see that look on his face. Like I’d betrayed him. Which, I suppose, I had. But not on purpose. It’s not like I went out of my way to hurt him, out of my way to choose a Republican on Ways and Means. Doesn’t he know I’d rather be with him?

Doesn’t he know that?

But if you can’t be with the one you love... then... love the one you’re with. And with Cliff, I think I could do that. He’s a good guy. He’s funny. He’s cute. He’s... well, let’s just say the other night was GOOD. Yes, he’s a Republican. But not all of life has to be about that. Does it?!?

But that’s all over now. Because it looks like I’d have to choose Cliff or my job. And after just two dates, I can’t possibly make that kind of decision.

It’s all politics. I hate that sometimes. I hate that life has to be so complicated.

I hate that I can’t pursue what could have been a great relationship with a good guy. I hate that I can’t see Cliff again.

I hate that Josh is mad at me. And I hate that for once he’s kind of right to be mad. And I hate that I can’t make it better for him.

Aargh. What a mess. Maybe I’ll call in sick tomorrow...

Manchester

Okay, so it’s going to be a tough one. It’s going to be close. There will be no sleep to speak of.

Josh is going to be intense and I am going to need a lot of chocolate to get through it and a lot of self-control to not just take him in my arms and hold him to calm him down like a crying child on days like today. And there will be many days like today.

He so hates himself when he messes up. He forgets what a great job he does 99% of the time. He forgets how brilliant he is. He should bear in mind all the things he does right.

Besides, we are going to win. There’s no way we are NOT going to win. I simply will not allow it. I'm having too much fun. (Well, maybe not these last few weeks, and we're about due a nice formal dinner I can buy a dress for, but you know what I mean.)

We are, after all, all four years older and wiser than we were the first time round. And, I think, even more determined.

Bring it on... In the meantime, I might start drinking coffee in preparation. And maybe slipping some valium in Josh's. It's okay, I'm kidding. Though not the worst idea in the world.

Our non-anniversary

WHY does he insist on doing that?

He really is the only person I know who can send (beautiful) flowers to be mean. That takes some doing. Creativity, even.

Except, of course, that despite my irritation, I know he is better than that. His underlying reason cannot be meanness. Knowing what I do about him, his underlying reason is more likely to be ego. Pride that I came back to him.

Pride that his ideas and mission and the things he stands for are worth more to me than "Dr Freelove", as he (jealously?) likes to call him. Is that what it is? Or is it more basic than that? Is it a “you chose me over him” thing? Men are quite simple beings, after all...

But that’s a dangerous path to go down. Because that sounds a lot like it’s a personal thing rather than a professional thing.

Oh, Josh. If only I could read your mind. (Well, selectively. I’m sure a lot of what goes on in there is quite scary.) I’m not even sure you can read your own mind, though. Which I’m guessing is part of the problem, if not the root cause of it.

But, despite how annoying you can be, how mean you can seem, how confused you are and I am about this whole thing, despite how much you infuriate me at times and take pleasure in winding me up for your own “entertainment”, despite all that and more -

Are you better than my old boyfriend?

No comparison.

Bartlet's 3rd State of the Union

When I said this was a great job, it wasn’t just because of the handsome British men, either. After all, if that was what I wanted, I could just move to England.

It’s not even just because of the fantastic, inspiring, intelligent women like Joey Lucas, whom I like a lot, and whom, by the way, Josh really ought to gather his rosebuds with, if nothing else so he can get her out of his system.

It’s the adrenaline. Nothing beats those highs. When the President finished his address, jumping to our feet was instinctive. Though I gotta say, sitting so close to Josh during the speech kind of meant I could have concentrated a little harder on the content than I did. I feel like a fourteen-year-old girl when we sit like that, in close physical contact. Butterflies, and all. Ridiculous, I know. Ri-di-cu-lous. And slightly shameful. Because I’m not fourteen. We are about important, nation-changing, maybe even world-changing business. Genuinely exciting. Genuinely worthwhile.

Plus, of course, he’s my boss.

My b o s s.

Must not, must not, must not forget that.

This is so hard. So hard.

Maybe if I focus on just how unbearable he is and how little patience he has, the butterflies will go away. Though it is a lot of fun teasing him at times like this. That power cut was so well timed. Oh Joshua. You crack me up. So easy to wind up. Hours of entertainment. That's why I like Joey so much. She's even better than I am at winding you up, and it's so much fun to watch...

addendum

I realise, by the way, that I've been doing a lot of sighing lately - verbally, at least.

It must be the pent-up frustration. Standing by the wall waiting for someone to bang a door into me doesn't seem to work for me. Maybe sighing will.

The new ambassador plentipotentiary...

Did I mention I love my job?

Getting paid to flirt with charming men in suits. Dashing, I believe is the appropriately Jane-Austen-esque term.

I notice he didn’t pour me a drink, though. It strikes me that a well-educated member of the British royalty really ought to pour a drink for a beautiful single young woman in need of entertainment.

Still, since Josh won’t take me to Hawaii, maybe Lord John will take me to England instead... Apparently there are plenty more royal, dashing young men over there.

A girl can dream... Meanwhile, back in the real world, I’ve got to be up in four hours to take orders barked by Josh so I guess I'd better sleep. Sigh.

the Leardership Breakfast, and deep, DEEP embarrasment...

Oh, my GOODNESS. So mortifying. Sooo mortifying.

How can a woman who is organised enough to sew her name into her underwear (which, apparently, is not normal...) be disorganised enough to leave her underwear in her pants?

Sigh. One day I will manage the sophisticated thing.

Still, at least they weren’t black and lacy. Saving those for when he’s not just fishing them out of an envelope... :) (Oops. Drifted to my happy place again.)

In Other News, Sam and Josh, hunter gatherers that they are, failed to make a fire. But it sure was fun watching them try. They crack me up. “That Sam Seaborn is so cute...” he asked me to say. Don’t think he quite realises how much power he wields over females, regardless of Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and any other stan. None of us need to be told he’s cute. In fact if Josh doesn’t hurry up...

Am in a weird mood. Maybe it’s the wine I drank when I got home so I’d be able to see the funny side of this afternoon. Which has so far failed. Sigh. I’m going to sleep now. Tomorrow is another day... And it had better be less embarrassing.

I am, after all a capable woman. Of enormous value. Who deserves to be put on a stamp. Must remember that...

Noel

Christmas Eve at ER. Not exactly what I had in mind for our first Christmas together.

But that’s okay. Because he’s going to be okay.

I’ve never wanted to hug him as much as I did this evening. I’m so proud of him. A man of his intelligence, of his, well, let’s face it, his pride, owning up to what I can only imagine to be, well, feelings. Oh Josh. You did good. They should put you on a postage stamp.

I love you.

Did I mention that?

I can’t. I know I can’t.

Why, why, why was I not there at Rosslyn? I mean, I know why on a practical level, but deeper than that. I should have been by his side. I should have been with him. Protecting him somehow. Protecting him from these evil men and from these injuries and from these deep, deep internal wounds.

(He's not the only one with anger issues. How dare they do that to him?? God, where were you?)

Why was I not there?

Never again. I will always be there for him. From now on I will always be there. I guess that’s why I’m here now in this emergency room. Honestly, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Well, okay... no one else I’d rather be with. For tonight, that’s ER. For now, that’s in the office.
Afterwards......... well, yeah. But let’s not go there. It sets my pulse racing. And not in a good way.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

It is, in fact, a very good way. A very pleasant way. But not for now. Right thing, wrong time? Six years to go... Will he wait that long? Will I be strong enough to wait that long? In real life are there soulmates who end up together or is that just on bad TV shows?

Oh, get it together, would you, Donna? Get it together and focus on looking after your man. For tonight at least that’s what he can be. There he is, anyway. It’s time to wipe your eyes, and go. He needs you. Be strong.

He’s going to be okay. For now that’s all that matters.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

the Portland trip (well, not for me, sadly... just a date gone wrong despite beautiful dress!)

From now on, working late into the evening shall be considered preferable to going out on dates with arrogant lobbyists.

And the flute is coming out of the cupboard. Maybe there's a White House orchestra I can join or something. Though doubtless the men there will be the same ones I meet all the time anyway...

Wish Ainsley would be more civil. Some gal chat would not have gone amiss tonight. Neither, come to that, would some Haagen Dazs asnd a couple of glasses of wine.

Did I mention I wish she would dye her hair? We are clearly nothing like each other, but it wouldn't hurt for that to be made more obvious.

Anyway... tonight sucked. On many levels.

Well, very nearly sucked.

I'm keeping the dress.

Lame Duck Congress

Enormous value. Pah.

I’ll show him enormous value.

And it's surely to their credit...

So, what kind of day has it been?

Just another ordinary day at the office, I guess...

Ha! What's an ordinary day? Don't think I've seen one of those in a while.

It has, in fact, been a bit surreal, what with the key rings and the Gilbert and Sullivan and all.

And I gotta say, I'm not crazy about this Ainsley Hayes, even if she does sound like a hoot and I find it very entertaining watching Sam coming over all heroic.

Next thing, people will be saying she looks like me but with longer legs. And I'm not happy about that. Still, at least I have this going for me: cut me and I bleed Democrat blood. Although even I have to admit there do seem to be a fair few attractive Republican men around. Hmmm... Now there's a point worth pondering. Forbidden fruit and all that. If it works for Ainsley Hayes...

Better together...

Phew. What a relief. The campaign’s over, the VP is out of the race and I can get back to what I do best – campaigning with Josh, instead of fighting against him. I hope CJ was proud of me for that one. Though I’m not sure anyone could be proud of someone who dressed up in a chicken costume.

I’m still not convinced about Matt Santos, but Josh can pick a winner... so I’ll trust him on this one.

I'm so proud of him.

As Jack Johnson would say, “it’s always better when we’re together...” Though I gotta say, I’m kind of through being together only as colleagues and I’m hoping us working together again won’t, well, stand in the way of anything else. Though I doubt Josh will be able to multi-function anyway – it’s election, election, election all the way from now till 4th November, so I’d better re-wire my priorities and focus too.

Even if he did keep vigil at my bedside for days in Germany. What was that about? That's not in the job description, is it...?

Focus, girl.

Mmmm, wonder what job I can do? Have I earned the right to being more than a glorified secretary? I should think so. I’ve so enjoyed learning stuff with Will – he’s a much better teacher than Josh – or maybe I just wasn’t distracted when he used to tell me stuff... No danger of that. He doesn’t even have dimples!

Bye bye colored index cards. Something more glamorous, that actually uses my brain. Oh, but maybe I could keep the colored index cards anyway... They’re just so... useful.

Better together – by Jack Johnson

There's no combination of words
I could put on the back of a postcard,
No song that I could sing
But I can try for your heart,
Our dreams, and they are made out of real things,
Like a shoebox of photographs,
With sepia tone loving,
Love is the answer
At least for most of the questions in my heart ,
Like why are we here? And where do we go?
And how come it's so hard?
It's not always easy,
And sometimes life can be deceiving,
I'll tell you one thing, its always better when we're together

Mmm, it's always better when we're together
Yeah, we'll look at the stars when we're together
Well, it's always better when we're together
Yeah, it's always better when we're together

And all of these moments
Just might find their way into my dreams tonight
But I know that they'll be gone,
When the morning light sings
And brings new things,
But tomorrow night you see
That they'll be gone too,
Too many things I have to do,
But if all of these dreams might find their way
Into my day to day scene
I'll be under the impression,
I was somewhere in-between
With only two,
Just me and you
Not so many things we got to do,
Or places we got to be
We'll sit beneath the mango tree now (if only!!!)

Yeah, it's always better when we're together...

In the shadow of two gunmen...

It’s 2 am. I’m still here. Of course I’m still here.

Where else would I be?

God, if you’re out there, listen to me. I’m begging you here. Give me this man back. Give this country this man back. He has not even begun to be all he can be.

This man, this man... so fragile inside but so... so... I can’t find the words. He’s precious. The world cannot afford to lose him. America cannot afford to lose him.

Aargh. Who am I trying to kid? You’re not stupid, God. You’re not fooled.

Stuff America. This isn’t about America. This is about me. I’m trying to sound all selfless and
appealing to you for the Greater Good, but the truth is -
I cannot afford to lose him.

He’s everything to me. He gave me that opportunity to find my confidence and start over. He gave me a reason to live. A reason to pick myself up off the ground.

Or was it him who picked me up? He said he couldn’t carry me. But the thing is, he did. His passion, his energy, his busy schedule even. His belief in me. His belief in me made me what I could be.

He makes me great.

He makes me all I can be. I’m not fully me when I’m not around him. It feels like something is missing. Right now sitting here at 2 am (well 2.27 am now) something is missing because he‘s not fully here. Part of me is missing. Part of me is lying on the hospital bed whether I am going to live or d..

Not going to write that word. Not even going to think about it. Lord, I pray for health and vitality. I pray for life. Life. Life. Life.

L I F E

His life, my life. Intertwined. I don’t think I can face life without him.

Oh my gosh. I’m in love with him.

****

It’s 6 am and I’m still here and now I’m panicking.

I can’t be in love with him.

That’s not in the script.

But it does explain a lot of things. The butterflies for instance. The tears when I read what he wrote in my beautiful book from last Christmas. The way I will do anything for him, go above and beyond the call of duty, every time, without any question, just because.

How did I not see this coming?!!!

What do I do?

Help me someone, what do I do now?

HELP!!! HELP!!! HELP!!! SOMEONE!!!

But I can’t talk to any of you. This has to remain unsaid. Otherwise... otherwise I have to... No. That’s not going to happen. He will get well, I will be by his side, I will help him to become all he can be. There is so much in him. So much, so much good.

Help me God...

I’m a wreck.

Health, strength, vitality, please God I pray.

The rest we will deal with somehow.

*****

I want to add an epilogue to this. I know that I was just going to stick the pages in, in no particular order (which is driving me mad, by the way – if this baby takes much longer I am going to have to start putting them in date order or color coding them or something), and not comment. Let the pages speak for themselves. But here... Here I can’t keep the emotion that’s welling up inside me from spilling out.

That night... I can’t think about it without crying. Sometimes, even after all these years, all this water under all these bridges, I wake up sweating from a nightmare like that one and I have to turn over and I have to look at him and touch him, and sometimes I have to wake him up and get him to hold me, hold me till I stop crying, till I stop shaking, till I remember all this was a very long time ago and he’s got me, and I’ve got him, and he’s fit and healthy and all mine and there never needs to be any pretence again.

That night... Nothing has ever compared to it, and hopefully nothing ever will.

But the thing with that night too, is what followed it. The realisation that I was deeply, passionately, head-over-heels in love with him, that there was nothing I could do about it... literally nothing. Nothing. For the next seven years. (Like Jacob who had to work seven years for the woman he loved. But then he got the wrong one. I tried not to think about that.) You know, that was like a hand reaching down inside my gut and twisting everything. Seven years seemed like a very long time.

It was.

That night was just the beginning of a gut-wrenching eternity.

Oh no. I’m welling up. I’m going to have to call him. His staff are going to love that. Still, we can put it down to hormones this time... Sometimes only his voice can calm me down. I wonder if that’s what will stop the baby crying too.

Election Day

I snuck out for two minutes to record something of the euphoria of today.

Except, of course, that there are no words that can describe or do justice to this moment.

No words.

None.

We are winning the election, and I am winning Josh.

All that can possibly be added are exclamation marks.

In the cold light of day...

In the cold light of the day, after I've written things like that, I always cringe slightly. Sometimes more than slightly. I would like it to be borne in mind that I was not entirely sober, and a more than a little frustrated. "Hope deferred makes the heart sick" and all that... And nine years is a lot of deferral.

But I will not allow this to rock me. CJ is right on one thing - there is more to life, more to my life even, than Josh Lyman.

Besides, I really want to win this thing.

It was bound to happen sometime...

Oh, damn it, damn it, damn it. So close. So very very close.

He should be with me right now. Instead we are just both going to be very embarrassed about this in the morning. And for no reason. Nothing’s happened.

Well, not nothing exactly.
He kissed me.
Josh kissed me!!!!!

J o s h
K i s s e d
M e !

I feel like I’m fourteen again. I’m exploding with happiness. I’m wanting to doodle flowers and hearts and his name and my married name. (Well, let’s face it, some of that I have actually already done, been doing for years... thank goodness for diaries no one sees!!)

Well part of me is. The other, adult part of me is sad and frustrated and confused and hurting and embarrassed... oh damn it. We were so close.

Did he even want that key? Could he not have fought a bit harder for it? What does it all mean? Was it just the euphoria of the moment?

What does it mean?????

My head is actually going to explode. It’s certainly spinning a lot after all that wine I had to help me on my way. To help us on our way. I guess there’s a chance he could knock. There’s a chance. I should stay awake just in case.

Like there’s any chance of sleeping anyway.

What a day!!

Well done me, though. I thought that was a spectacularly good line in the moment. “Don’t worry about it. It was bound to happen sometime.” The very epitome of low-maintenance. Chilled out Donna-like ness which is why he loves me. (If he loves me. Who knows?) But man, inside, I was not chilled out. Inside I was screaming “CAN’T YOU SEE WE ARE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER AND THAT’S WHY IT WAS BOUND TO HAPPEN SOMETIME?!” Inside I was screaming at him to explain what the heck he means. Inside I was, I’m ashamed to say it, punching him: how dare he minimise our moment? I’ve waited nine years for this!

I will never be able to hear the words “South Carolina” again without shivers down my spine. I’m not entirely sure I will ever be able to face him again without shivers down my spine either. Not that I have in quite a while, it has to be said.

What now?

Seriously, what now?

If I was writing this story, he would come and find me, knock on my door and we could, well, start this thing. Stop faffing around. Stop having odd moments we are supposed to ignore. Stop bandying about sentences like “It was bound to happen sometime” and “it’s not what it looks like” and “I’m here for as long as I need to be” and even “you look amazing”. (Of course I want him to think I look amazing. But what good are THOUGHTS, really?)

We could BE TOGETHER.

Come on, Josh. One small step for man... Come and find me. I’m waiting for you. I love you. I want to be yours. Body and soul.

But this isn’t a story, I don’t get to write it. (I may have built in a slightly shorter waiting period if I had.) And I don’t know what happens next. Another nine years’ limbo? Please God, no.

Billie Holliday’s Body and Soul – seems like it was written just for us...

You’re making me blue

All that you do

Seems unfair

You try not to hear

Turn a deaf ear

To my prayer

It seems you don’t want to see

What you are doing to me

My arms are waiting to caress you

And to my heart they long to press you, sweet heart

My heart is sad and lonely

For you I cry (yes, that's how painful it is sometimes!)

For you, dear, only

I tell you I mean it

I’m all for you

Body and soul

I spend my days in longing

And wondering

it’s me you’re wronging

Why haven’t you seen it????????????????????

I’m all for you

Body and soul

I can't believe it

It's hard to conceive it

That you’d turn away romance

Are you pretending??

Don’t say its the ending

I wish I could have one more chance to prove, dear

My life a hell you’re making

You know I’m yours for just the taking

I’d gladly surrender

Myself to you

Body and soul

Life’s dreary for me

Days seem to be long as years (and it's been a lot of days!!)

I’ve looked for the sun

But can see none

Through my tears

Your heart must be like a stone

To leave me like this alone

When you could make my life worth living

By taking what I’m set on giving, sweet heart

My heart is sad and lonely

For you I cry

For you, dear, only

I tell you I mean it

I’m all for you

Body and soul

After the "interview"

I didn’t cry. That’s my victory. My moment for the finest bagels and muffins in all the land. Ha.

I didn’t cry.

How did I not cry?

He’s just Josh. Amped up to a particular peak of Joshness. And not a particularly pleasant one.

How did I not cry?

I’m crying now though, right here in this Starbucks thinking about how he would have had cream and three sugars. Cue the song from Grease, “hopelessly devoted to you”... And the hardest thing is, I’m so alone in this. The roommate whose cat he used to shout at has long since passed the point of caring. And my colleagues – we share so much, we’re so close, I’m sure CJ is not the only one to have guessed my feelings – but there is no way I can talk to any of them about this.

Come on Donnatella, pull yourself together, girl. You have five majors and two minors. (Sort of.) You are a highly capable woman. You do not need to let one little incident with one arrogant, nasty ex-boss destroy your confidence.

You are also talking to yourself in the second person. Get a grip, girl.

How can I let him do this to me? How is it that I am reduced to this weeping wreck? I don’t think I even wore waterproof mascara today. First big mistake of the day.
But it was him I was thinking of when I put the mascara on. It’s all for him. Everything. Cue more slushy music. “Body and Soul” particularly appropriate for example.

Oh how pathetic I sound when I re-read what I’ve just written. Am I going to allow a mere man to have such a hold on me?
....
He’s no mere man though, is he? I mean, let’s face it. I love him so much it physically hurts.

And did he mean he missed me? Or did he mean I was stupid for even thinking he might be missing me? And if he meant he missed me he could have said it more nicely...couldn’t he? If what he said was really true, if he just couldn’t hire me rather than simply not wanting to, could he not have taken a softer tone, looked at me like he sometimes has, with that tenderness in his eyes?

He’s hurting. Of course he is. He’s hurting that I left him without warning and didn’t immediately leave the Baker campaign to follow him around the country. Didn’t he think I wanted to do that? I mean, really? Is he blind? Fighting a campaign with Josh, again? It was so much fun the first time round. I loved every moment even the moments when he shouted at me. Gosh, it was when I fell in love with him. Right there after the speech in New Hampshire when he turned to me and hugged me because he knew... he just knew... Bartlet was the man, he was going to do it. I was so proud to be a part of that moment. To be a part of what we were going to do... together.

But CJ made me think. There’s more to life than Josh Lyman. As previously stated, I am a highly capable woman (and with distinctive penmanship). I wanted to do something with my career.

Gotta ask myself why though. And much as it pains me to admit it, a large part of it was about proving CJ wrong. Of course I can leave Josh whenever. I am not dependent on him for my emotional being.

Which explains why I am sitting in Starbucks with non-waterproof mascara running down my face.

Which of us is being the most stupid and the most pig-headed here?

You gotta get Josh, that’s what I said to Amy back in those days that I don’t much care to think about. You gotta get him. He spends half his life worrying about who is going to lose next. And he lost me. I left him. No wonder he handled it badly.

Oh Donnatella, how could you have been so stupid? Out of sheer pig-headedness?

God, if you’re out there. I pray for another chance. I will not blow it this time. This man... is everything to me. I can’t bear this.
...................
Right, that’s enough waxing lyrical and drowning myself in hot chocolate. I’m going home to bury myself in some Friends re-runs with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s and a large glass of wine (or two...). Highly capable woman or not, that’s all I can manage tonight.

Let’s hope we all get to laugh about this one day...

Inauguration Day

Wow.

Today of all days, I want to be more eloquent than that. I should be more eloquent than that.

But, wow.

What a day. What a privilege. What a moment.

I never dreamed I could feel like this... I'm going to erupt into song if I'm not careful.

I have to pinch myself every day to check I am not dreaming. But even my overactive imagination could not have conjured this up. Chief of Staff to the First Lady. What a moment in history. And I get to be a part of it. I even get to claim to have, in some small way, helped make it happen.

I certainly can claim credit for keeping the man who made it happen sane and alive. Health and vitality is what I prayed for him years ago, on the night he was shot. It seems God has given him so much more. And given me so much. Ten weeks in, I can't believe I still get to wake up next to him. I'm calm, collected outwardly, and I'm so happy and serene and that shines through, but inside I don't think even he can guess what's going on. A million butterflies. I'm, what's the phrase, walking on sunshine. I'm with him on one thing - well on many, but anyway - "this is what your first smack high must feel like". One hell of a high though!

It's a whole new era. Saint Exupéry said, "L'amour, ce n'est pas se regarder dans les yeux, c'est regarder ensemble dans la meme direction." I believe that's the key to how we made it. (That and my tireless patience!) And that's the key to how we will make it, despite the stress, the sleepless nights, the Amy Gardners, and who knows what else awaits us.

It's also the key to how together we can help make this greater nation greater. President and Mrs Santos, God bless you. God bless America.

And God bless this beautiful man sleeping by my side. Keep us safe, keep us together. Together fighting for this cause. Could there be a more beautiful dream?

Introduction to my blog!

Well, the baby's kicking, but showing no signs of engaging, so here I am, stuck at home, w a i t i n g, interminably waiting, while Josh goes out and does the fun stuff and comes back to report how my ** hopefully ** temporary replacement is doing. It's killing me, stuck here like this, but I want this baby so much, and sometimes I wonder if that is not killing me more. I want this baby not just for his or her own sake but because, well because, when you love someone this much, when you feel not just your head but also your heart is going to explode from love, to create something, a whole new life, with them. Wow. It's awesome. I never imagined I could feel like this.

Too many commas I know, but I'm just writing from the heart. At least these days I don't need to worry about shorthand. Or spelling. Speaking of which Carol is popping by later, it will be lovely to see her.

Anyway, whilst I am stuck at home, exploding with love and impatience for this baby, exploding with love for my amazing husband, I have been getting things ready and finding bits of my old diaries... All day every day organising stuff at work, I used to come home at night and I had to write, it's like a compulsive thing, but sometimes I couldn't find my diary. I know it sounds crazy from an efficient girl like me. But when you sleep for four hours a night and everything at work has to be perfect, sometimes keeping your flat tidy isn't the priority. And then of course when Josh used to fail to exercise cautious optimism and turn up drunk in the middle of the night to yell at my roommate's cat - well, I used to have to quickly hide it, just in case, not that he ever would... I don't think... And in the early days he probably wouldn't even have guessed there was anything in there that would interest him... But anyway, I'd hide it, then I wouldn't find it, so then I'd write on just about anything I could find. Even napkins and tissues sometimes.

All of which means there are random bits of random diaries scattered amongst my posessions. And I wanted to conserve them for posterity. So I am typing some of them up here. In no particular order. Enjoy.

Disclaimer...

Please note that no copyright infringement is intended. The characters and all quotes belong to Aaron Sorkin, Warner Bros, et al. This blog is a tribute to the wonderfulness of the West Wing, the brilliantly portrated and eminently lovable characters of Josh and Donna, and the breathtaking acting of Bradley Whitford and Janel Moloney. I love you guys. Thanks for the hours of entertainment, laughter, tears and tantalising tension!!