37 days. He'll be back in 37 days. I can make it that long. I think I can make it that long. I think i can i think i can i think i can i think i can i think i can...
Sometimes when I think about him i smile so hard my face hurts, and walk down the street grinning like an idiot, joyful at my secret thoughts.* And sometimes when I think about him i start bawling because i miss him so much i think my chest will cave in, and i sit in my room and weep.
He's got email. He writes every day, but it's not the same. I miss the sound of his voice; his cheerful, confident demeanor; his breath, husky and ragged on my neck. I miss how keen he is about absolutely everything, his rediculous joie de vivre. I miss the way we laugh when we are in bed together, like when our sweaty stomachs smack together and create and airlock and get suck, and then the skin makes a giant farting noise when we pull ourselves apart. We have no shame, nothing embarasses us, we are human, and totally forgiving. I love the way he looks at me.
God i miss him. I'm horny as hell and ovulating and i miss his hands, his shoulders, his ass, his thighs like oak timbers, his etcetera, i miss i miss i miss i miss i miss i miss i miss i miss i miss...
i have become the most self-centered person alive. i have 4 flatmates. i don't give a shit about their problems. i barely even listen when they talk. they are people, with lives and issues and thoughts and feelings but when they talk all i hear is 'yadda yadda yadda.' i can't think of anything but my Pirate and my lonliness.
sometimes 37 days seems like nothing at all. it will fly by i know. i'm so busy i don't have time to scratch my butt, let alone miss him. but then i think about everything i have to accomplish before he arrives: BIRCs, 4s head, finish another chapter, training, departmental seminars, training, tutoring, cycling, training, birthdays, cards, letters, phone calls, halloween, grading papers, collecting essays. so much to do before then, 37 days seems like years away.
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*the secret thoughts half the planet has read because i publish them here.
18 comments:
oh lord, the ovulation thing. i can so relate. i could chew railroad spikes, i get so *ahem* voracious.
BECAUSE ON HRT YOU STILL OVULATE LIKE A PINBALL MACHINE BURPING OUT FREE GAMES
My husband is away at the moment...it's only for a week but it's killing me too.....even if I do get to watch trashy telly without guilt.
*peeks through the hormonal fog*
It's only 36 days now.
What First Nations described has encouraged me even more not to go down the HRT route ... because the great thing about being middle aged and married for a long time is that there is no "hormonal fog" anymore.
I mean, how the hell am I going to catch up with all those books and DVD's on the shelves otherwise?
His thighs like oak timbers...
Okay. So he doesn't just work on a ship. He is a ship.
Oh Pirate,let me run my hands up and down your mast and lick your rigging! Let's keelhaul each other and splice each other's mainbraces! Let's climb the foretop, reef the sails and start the waisters. Flog my bell until it won't flog no more, call up the dog watch, holystone my decks until we're both dripping and oh pirate, my pirate, let's swab each other. Like bunnies.
Cute, ceebs, cute.
My word!
Congratulations on the great news about Christmas and Spamalot that will be very exciting. I am sorry to hear about the bureaucratic screwup with the moolah and the mysterious pigeonhole behind the locked frickin' door..what the????
As for surviving 37 days..hmmm..I can't concentrate now because of your explicit lamentations...the Pirate will definitely be receiving a...damnit...
I could not improve on zb's comment so I won't even try.
Find a happy place. You have so much to look forward to..
told you so, told you so, told you, told you, told you so!
HA!!!
The only thing I miss about F not touring so much anymore is that I don't get to feel like that! Enjoy...
Mind you it does mean that when I'm ovulating, he's right here.
But then I don't get the phone sex...
Difficult choice.
see, now here I'm thinking that she might want to revise the title of the post just previous to this one? because martha just got out of jail, and...yeah. none of that.
how much you wanna bet martha crochets her own luv mops?
Ucrackers: he's only gone for a week, you own a telly, and have time to watch it? sorry, no sympathy here.
billy: if this is hormonal fog, it's a proper pea-souper. i can't even see to the end of my dildo.
betty: you mean when i'm middle-aged i finally get to read all the unfinished books on my shelf? cool!
zb: hey, i thought that was a pretty good similie. it's accurate, anyway.
homo: *chanting* I'm in my happy place, i'm in my happy place, i'm...
HC: enjoy??? you want to feel like this??!?!?!?! this is horrible. there is no up-side. you're wierd.
FN: "luv mops?" do i even want to know what means?
37 days? aren't you going to get bored? :)
Of course there's an upside. The anticipation. It's like being a kid and counting down the days till Christmas. Yes, its lonely and miserable but at the same time there's that absolute intensity of feeling...
Or maybe I am just weird.
zb: hey, i thought that was a pretty good similie. it's accurate, anyway.
Yes. I know. And your point is?
H-C: Yes. You are weird.
35 days now, and I know the feeling :-)
Note to self: next time, chew railroad spikes.
Note to self: what are railroad spikes?
unlike in England, where railroad ties (the timbers to which the tracks are attached) are concrete, in America they are wood. Wooden ties are much lighter than concrete ties, and so must be anchored into the ground to keep the tracks from shifting. this is accomplished with spikes, giant iron nails driven through the timbers into the ground. Back in the good ol' days this was done manually, by large men with large slege hammers. On the west coast, this usually meant Chinese immigrants who were given the option to either work the railroads or rot in a prison camp.
...yes, quite correct, cb; and i thank you for that elucidation.
luv mops are...mops, for when you, you know, have love. and need a mop. in marthas case they are monogrammed and have the days fo the week on the lower left corner.
Railway sleepers in England are still, in quite considerable numbers, made of huge balks of wood dipped in pitch and creosote to the point where they're the consistency of tempered steel. It's only in new or refurbished networks that they're concrete.
You can also find wooden railway sleepers in my mother's garden as that's what I used to build her vegetable beds. They're groin strainingly heavy but they'll last forever.
The answer to life , the universe and everything is not 37, it is child, a magnificent FOURTY TWO.
42? really?
shit. and here was me thinking the answer to everything was 69.
i never was much good at math.
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