First of all, let me just say, Leah, I loved reading your entry today! I know exactly how you were feeling, I love when I have the place to myself and I make it clean and it smells good and my dinner is for me, big salad, YUM. Of course, I’ve had the place to myself all summer, but I still really love that.
My roommate has moved in, pretty much, now. She’ll be at the apartment from Tuesday morning until Friday evening, so I’ll have it all to myself all weekends. Yay! Perfect for nights by the fireplace with a certain saxaphone player… 
Speaking of whom, I called saxman on Tuesday night. Got up the courage, that is. Why is it so hard to just make that initial call? Maybe it’s because you’re putting yourself out there…I sat with the phone book in my lap for a good ten minutes before I dialed the entire number with the exception of the last digit before hanging up. Then I took a deep breath and dialed the whole number. He wasn’t home, though. I got the machine, and left a casual message (I’m breezy…) that said I was thinking of going to watch him and S and M play hockey, and would he like to grab a coffee or something beforehand? Left my number. He called back a half hour later, but I missed the call because I was on the other line. Actually, I was on the other line with M, who had called to tell me that he had just got off the phone with saxman, who had called to say he wouldn’t be playing hockey Wednesday night due to a gig his cousin had. (I guess the cousin is a musician, too.) But he left a message that explained why he couldn’t make it, joked that since gigs are few and far between, they try to support one another and go out to them. He did, however, drop the name of the place he’d be at in there, too. He said we’ll have to do it another time and that he’d give me a call. So we have each other’s numbers now, and although I jump when the phone rings, I can’t wait to talk to him again and spend more time with him.
After all that I felt great, like I made something good happen.
