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?

The State Dinner

Oops. It's been one of those days.

Still, I hope he does keep in mind all the things that I do right. Tying his tie for instance. I'm pretty sure no one does that as well as I do.

Wonder what he'd do without me?

Yo Yo Ma seems like he rocks. I'd like to hear him someday. I'd also like to actually get to go to some of these dinners. These dinners with men in beautiful tuxes...

Financial disclosure

You know what I love about Mandy? The fact I'm no longer the only one fighting a losing battle trying to keep Josh humble. It does make me smile when he gets shouted at.

I worry when he wanders off like that, though. Wonder where he was going. Not to do anything stupid, I hope. Sigh. I can't protect him from himself forever. Or ever, really.

Still, he did good today. The VP may have taken the credit but I wouldn't be surprised if Josh had done most of the leg work. Maybe the tough guy act with the sunglasses... It's actually quite disturbing how attractive I find that.

Bet he looks good in that expensive tux too...

I want a raise

Wow. We sure could use a little light relief at work.

(No wonder we cling to what crumbs of gossip we can gather up from under the cafeteria tables. I’d kill to know what Sam’s been up to...)

Know what else I could use? That raise. Why does he think I’m kidding around with that? I’m not sure I’m paid enough to be barked at all day about wanting a salad then not wanting a salad. (Which was a bit of a relief – I thought for one minute that perhaps he had suffered a blow to the head, or something.) Then wanting water right now. Then my supposed inability to spell. Of course I can spell. Like he’s infallible anyway.

Hrmph.

I shall from now on make damn sure he always has something to do.

Though I gotta say, I’m glad he had the time for Charlie. The big brother role suits Josh; However much I may rail against him sometimes (okay, every day), he’s a fundamentally good guy after all. There, I’ve said it, and now I never need to say it again. Also, his gut instincts are often not as way off as I like to imply. (Someone has to keep his ego in check. And since I’m already so far beyond the call of duty.... Which brings me back to my point about my raise.)

You know what, though? Josh is right about one thing (and only one): this feeling, the one Charlie talked about, it doesn’t go away. And that, in the end, is why I’ll stay, despite the pathetic salary – for all eight years, maybe longer, obnoxious boss or no.

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?

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?

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.