Dinner again

Please forgive the lack of chronological or logical order, but not only have I slept a mere four hours, I'm also feeling a bit emotional -- less gooey than sad, pretty much the way I felt last week when I thought Mr H was leaving for good.
The evenings spent with Mr H -- though, as far as yesterday is concerned, not with him alone -- are getting better and better.
We were four yesterday (Mr H, the Spanish guy working for [...], Pinar and myself), and it was... hmm, which adjectives to use? Revealing, maybe, because I realized, if with a heavy heart, why exactly I fell for the man in the first place -- he really is fun, clever and charming on top of good-looking. And he was 100% *there* with us, unlike e.g. the evening when we watched the Federer/Nadal final, and I felt we could have been crash dummies for all he cared.
One of the best moments: when we were leaving shortly before midnight, we all (including Mr H, who quit smoking 2 years ago) had a cigarette outside, and he said, "OK, now I've had my Christmas -- a fantastic evening with friends." (Shit, now I'm tearing up)
 
Bugger, it's difficult to snatch bits out of the glittering whirl of memories and put them into words, even without regard for any kind of order.

I don't know how Pinar was feeling, and I doubt she's going to tell me. Some things are better left unsaid, even if one is on the way towards becoming good friends. Anyway, the way she sometimes looked at Mr H pretty much said it all.
And there was one rather revealing moment: Mr H had told us the story about how he met this beautiful, fascinating married Iranian woman when he was in Teheran two or three years ago, and they ended up having an extremely intense, if short, affair. Pinar went more and more silent, and finally said, "Could we please change the subject, somehow I don't like this story". And she flinched whenever he touched her, which was also a rather obvious sign (though obvious only to me) -- during our girls' night out on Wednesday she'd told us about the huge crush she used to have on one of her colleagues at the Turkish Foreign Ministry, but she knew she didn't stand a chance; he liked her, but not that way, and she hated it when he touched her in a casual way, because that was all she was ever going to get.
When we, i.e. Pinar and I, had a cigarette outside between starters and main course, she observed -- with a total lack of venom or bitterness, which speaks very much in her favour -- how close Mr H and I seemed (*cue hollow laughter*), and how much he obviously liked my gentle teasing, which cheered him up and made him so evidently comfortable.
*Le big sigh* In a way I'm grateful for the experience of the past months, because at least now I don't misinterpret his way of reacting to me as "interested that way" anymore. But I can certainly see why I made the mistake in the first place.
Not that the realization is making things any easier, because he is my Mr Perfect in many ways, and I can't have him, and that's anything but easy to accept.

[back after shower and boyz-related chores]

Yes, my heart is very, very heavy. It's really a strange mix of feelings, made stranger and maybe more intense by lack of sleep: on the one hand, there's this bone-deep sadness brought about by the knowledge that he's going to leave in less than two weeks, and on the other there is a weird kind of elation, because at least now that long-lasting attraction doesn't seem so irrational and unreasonably addictive anymore.

Maybe a few snippets now; I feel this urge to put things on record, so I can re-read and relive them later on (pa-the-tic!!).

We're talking about Istanbul. Mr H has been there a few times (the last time over Christmas) and is becoming a huge fan. Pinar, being Turkish, is of course very glad about this positive assessment. Mr H extols the beauty of the Hagia Sofia.
Mr H: And I think they even allowed for a Catholic Mass or something to be held there some time ago.
Everybody else: ?????
Me, having a flash of memory: Oh, that must have been when the Pope came to visit Turkey, when was it? 2008 or 2009 I think.
Pinar: Yes, of course, now I remember.
Me: So it was probably some kind of pseudo-ecumenic, look-how-fond-we're-of-each-other, mixed-religion thingy.
Mr H, with a dirty grin: A... promiscuous religious event, you mean?
Me, after dabbing red wine off my face: You can't mention the Pope and promiscuity in the same sentence! Now I have those images in my head -- take them away, please!
Spanish guy collapses on the table, snorting.
Me: Because you know, don't you, that the Pope is really the Emperor from Star Wars IV - VI?
Mr H: o_O ???????
Me: Oh come on, you know it's true.
Mr H: I'm not sure I remember...
Me: Oh yes you do. *putting scarf on my head in the manner of hood and moving fingers in spidery way* Feel the rage, young Luke!
Me H: Well, if you put it like that... Fuck, yes, he *is* the Emperor!

[continued after visit to Lola and arriving at work]

God, I'm feeling like shit today. Maybe running will help -- the weather is splendid if very cold, but we finish work at 12, then I'll go to Lola's Alexandra's place, cuddle her (Lola) a bit, change into running attire, walk the 200m or so to the river, and run. The temperature ought to be around 5° plus by then, so that's ok. Deafening music and muscle pain will maybe take my mind off things for a bit, not to mention crank up my blood pressure, which is probably not so low anyway, but I'm feeling as if it was 80:60.
Boss arrived about 15 min ago, entered my office to say good morning and asked how I was. I truthfully answered that I was feeling really, really bad today.
Boss: Oh, I'm sorry. Did your flat burn down?
Me: No, of course not.
Boss: Are ze boyz sick?
Me: No, no, ze boyz are fine.
Boss, clearly at his wits' end: Erm, did you burn dinner yesterday?
Me, laughing in spite of being closer to crying: In a very metaphorical sense, you could say that I burned dinner yesterday.
Boss: Mmmh. Are you going to surive? At last till the end of the year?
Me: Yes, I think I can promise that. But please, please, don't say anything today that might even remotely have the potential to make me cry, or I can't guarantee that I won't.
Boss: Oh, OK, let's change topic. What about-
Me: Please don't say the qu-word!!!
Boss: -the quarterly report?
Me: I said DON'T say the qu-word, please! I'm sorry, I just can't finish it today, and I know it's highly unprofessional, but...
Boss, soothingly: It's ok, we're going to send it after I return from my leave. Nobody reads it anyway, so it doesn't really matter, does it?

I love him, I do.

It would probably be better to pull myself together and just work on the effing report instead of wallowing, but I just can't.
What I can do, though, is spare you darlings from reading even more of my wallowing and finish this post.

A very happy, healthy, creative and love-filled New Year to you all!