Chili

Tonight was fun. And that chili was the best it's been in a long time -not so much cumin. Maybe a little oregano. But hey, I'm no expert.

Wonder what that important NSC meeting was about, and why he won't tell me.

I hate not knowing things.

Like, why hasn't Donald called? We had a good night, right? And I only talked a little about my job. I think.

And where does Josh get the whole gomer thing from?

Plus, the eternal question... how do people die from vending machines?!

Amazing what a clean shirt can do...

Well, that’s a relief.

Josh keeps his job – I keep mine – everyone’s happy. Well, kinda happy. Seemed to me there was a lot of stress going round the West Wing today. More than usual, I mean.

It is, I’ll grant you, just about possible that some of the stress I was sensing was my own. Getting Josh to change shirts... wow. I should get a pay rise. A big one. (Long overdue, I might add.)

Truth is he looks pretty hot in any shirt, but hey.

I’m not about to let a stupid crush on my slightly arrogant boss get in the way of doing my job brilliantly. Already it’s lasted a lot longer than most crushes, so it’s bound to be over soon, right?

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 ...

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!

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?

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?

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.