Mexico and stuff

You see. This, right here, is why I love him. No, not the comment about running home and getting my equipment. Not that. I mean, it's funny and all, would be funny if he said it to someone else at least, but not that.

He pretends not to listen. He pretends to mow down my arguments as though they were stupid.

Then he goes and finds the answers to my question. As if I matter. As if he cares that I know that I matter, that my questions matter.

And damn it, he's persuasive.

Yo Yo Ma Rules

... He really does. I couldn't take my eyes off him.

But then, I don't know why, but I did. I wanted to see if Josh was as captivated as I was; I love the look in his eyes when he's mesmerized by something. Usually it's politics, of course. Sometimes, every so often, I wonder if it's me. (And then I remember, no, Donna, that's only in your pathetic little daydreams, he's your boss, remember?) And I wondered, could music do this too? Music that makes your heart race like Yo Yo Ma does?

And.

I felt sick when I saw him. He looked as if he was going to explode. No, explode is what he does when a Congressman is being stubborn. This was more like imploding. His eyes were glazed and he was sweating so much that I could see it from my row. And I thought, why did I not sit next to him?

Why was I not there?

Why did I let him go home without talking to me?

I've scrolled down to his name a thousand times in my cellphone. I want to call him. But I'm also scared. I'm scared of what I'll hear if he answers; even more scared that he won't answer.

Would I be his first phone call?

I want to be his first phone call.

I want him to be okay.

He'll be okay, won't he? I want to phone CJ and make her tell me he'll be okay. But we don't know. No one knows. And I don't think CJ would appreciate being woken up at 3 am.

Okay. Let's think. Health and strength, please God. What you did physically please do it emotionally too. I want him back, whole and able to kid and not freaked out by bagpipes. Okay, maybe a little freaked out by bagpipes, since that is probably a sign of mental health. But you know what I mean.

Just make it through tonight, Josh. Tomorrow you see that Stanley Keyworth guy and he's promised me that I'll start to get you back after that. Not immediately, but that's fine. I can be patient, so long as I know you're on the right path and you're going to be okay.

Hell, I'd wait five years for you if I had to.

20 Hours in LA

David Hasselhoff!

And, Matt Perry!!

I met Matt Perry!! Who knew politics would be so glamorous?

And so nice to look at?

(He wouldn't tell me if Ross and Rachel get together in the end, though. No fun. I mean, come on guys, all that unresolved sexual tension is all very well - but we viewers can get frustrated you know!)

You want to know the really annoying thing, though? Maybe it was the champagne. It was almost definitely the champagne. And the sleep deprivation.

But Matt Perry kind of kept reminding me of Josh.

Seriously, if you squint, and you turn your head sideways. Try it.

I wonder if Joey Lucas has noticed that. Probably not, or she'd respond better to the rose gathering...

Feeling guilty that I made him go see her. I hope he's okay.

The secret plan...

... Okay, but I'm not so cured that part of me didn't want to hug him very hard (now he's had a shower and a shave), give him (decaf) coffee and lock myself in his office till midnight helping him to come up with a secret plan to fight inflation.

Much as he's unbearable when he's winning, I hate it when he messes up. Because I know what it does to him inside. And I can't protect him from that. I wish I could.

Pathetic, Donna Moss. What you need is a little misdirection. And a grip. Where might one purchase one of those?

Take this Sabbath Day... if only.

Well, that's me cured.

Golf? Seriously?

I wasn't going to do it.

I mean, seriously, trekking around a golf course lugging his stuff?

What did his last slave die of?

(Clearly, it could be a number of things: sleep deprivation. Overwork. Repetitive strain injury.)

But he looked so sad and so weighed down by anxiety after that deposition...

Of course I'll do it. It's the least I could do.

Maybe his last slave died of caring too much.

In excelsis deo

Wow.

I don't know how I didn't cry. 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. You can't take that for granted; it's not true of just everyone. But he puts his whole soul into his hugs,the way he does with everything else in life. And I could have sworn he did that smelling my hair thing. Which generally speaking can only mean...

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.

You know what? It’s Christmas. Just for once I will let myself go there. Just for once I will think happy, ridiculous, way-ahead-of-myself thoughts and allow myself to dream. Work can wait. Reality in in its coldness and harshness can wait.

I’m so happy. Did I mention that?

I love Christmas. Who needs skis anyway?