Benjamin is in Sweden for a couple months, having found an internship to keep himself busy before the beginning of his PhD. He was complaining to me of the cloudy skies, rain, and cool wind. So now I want him to write a book entitled Bon baisers de ... — where "..." would be the name of the city where he is now, which I will not write down, even though it sounds really better with this name in, for anonymity reasons. The title wouldn't translate, as it sounds cooler in French than From ... with Love; of course it would be a spies story in the style of John Le Carré ("But how could I write a book that I only half understand myself?", he asked — it's easy enough when you've done a bit of scientific publication, I think). There would be a self-effacing, somewhat coward and nervous spy ("Imagine Peter Sellers for the role," I wrote); a couple fascinating, efficient, mysterious women; some grisly, inventive murders; a heinous Russian who'd only appreciate the company of cats ("But the only Russian I really know is the nicest guy on Earth", I added thoughtfully. "Cover, obviously," Ben replied); and the skies would be cloudy and the wind too cool. "Why don't you write it yourself, then?", he asked. "Because I don't have time! Obviously." I replied. Then I thought about a sitcom Amy wrote a while back and I smiled.

I am still working on my paper, producing some additional results, but nothing so major that I haven't moved on something new: a project that, with a deadline mid-September, works out as a perfect summer assignment. It's one of these all-or-nothing (I was going to say "high risk, high reward", but as I am only devoting half a dozen weeks to it, I think the risk is rather moderate) type of work, which is probably why Graduate Advisor decided that I was to do it on my own rather than use it to train a new student on a particular technique. I'm rather excited by it, actually! But between the hard deadline, the last revisions to the paper, and the technical project for which an insufferable amount of tedious tasks need to be performed, I'm afraid it is going to be Fall and time to TA again before I even realize it.

The Fabulous Feline is, I believe, pleased with his new job. He pretty much got to define what he is going to do, which ensures that it will be somewhat exciting. He is slowly getting used to the idea of not being a student nor a struggling entrepreneur anymore, and making plans to take me out with stars in his eyes. I have been the one taking him out more often than not lately and that hurts his (patriarchal) feelings a little bit. I, myself, couldn't care less. The relief of having found a good position is obvious, and he is more relaxed, more considerate, and more charming than ever.

On the other hand, I'm afraid it is soon going to be time for him to look for The One, the woman he will want to live with, marry, and have children with. I have already said that this woman is not me, and that neither is he the man I want to live with and make the father of my children (marriage being an entirely different question already, as I have very little use for it. I am not against marriage in general, and if it holds a meaning for you, I totally understand that you go for it; however, it is not what I want for myself and I expect you to respect my choice too. I am used to trigger indignant comments when stating my views about the subject, especially among American people who seem to have more faith in marriage than Frenchmen, but please, don't see it as a provocation). I have also written that this do not mean that we don't have a sweet, lovely, tender, amorous relationship, only that we know it is bound to come to an end sooner than later, as we have no desire to pursue it in the long term. I know this statement, too, can bring on incredulous reactions, and I have been considered a liar or a slut for daring to make it, but I do not really care anymore. Having a good couple relationship does not mean that we would make for a good family, and I am grateful we realize that fully before committing each other to a whirlwind of bitter disappointment. I am not saying, however, that this is a desirable situation, and I am very scared indeed at the idea that he will be ready to move on before I am ready to let him go.

"Maybe it is time for you to start looking for her," I said as a conclusion of a conversation we had about finding the woman (or man) of your life. "How can you be sure she is The One?", he had asked, and I had offered a variety of answers, from "You cannot be sure" to "If she is you will know it", including "I don't believe there is a single Perfect One for every one of us; rather, there is a set of people with whom you can make it work; and if you know you can make it work and you want to make it work then I believe she will be the one.", all while thinking that chances were I would remember this conversation ten years from now and cringe at the immature foolishness of it all, like I now do with ideas I had a few years back on these issues.

"But I don't want to," he replied in his little boy voice. "I don't want to lose you yet," I said, a tear rolling on my cheek. He took me in his arms and hold me very tight, stroking my hair and naked skin until I smiled again.

I hope that, when time comes, he'll find her.