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.