Winter
Sweet boy Thursday has gone on vacation to fantastic, sunny Mexico with his family this week. I was invited along, but felt it would be weird inserting myself into his immediate family in a tropical paradise after having only just met them over Christmas. I'm quite sure spending a week with a girl whom you've previously only had the opportunity of chatting with for an hour while she snorkled snot (I was so ill over Christmas...) is not high on the list of SBT's parents' leisure activities. So, he went alone and I was left here to deal with two solid days of blizzard.
I miss him. Remarkably badly, I might add. There's this hollow, weird feeling about the days, and I don't like it. We function fabulously well as a unit and as a slightly weird household team. He has his own apartment, of course, but he's at mine so often that he has keys and a particular place that he leaves his things. He has a little "Honey, I'm home" routine when he comes over. He walks the dog in the morning (I'm fostering a mutt). He keeps breakfast at my house.
We haven't been apart for more than two days since October and it's weird to have the routine abruptly changed. And since we're not TRULY cohabitating, there's a weird wash of loneliness and want. If we were living together properly, we would probably share a car, so that getting said dog to the kennel on Wednesday wouldn't be a chore. I would be in charge of the laundry, as that is the only chore I don't really mind, and I would be at home this evening, folding OUR things, instead of just my own. What I probably will do is postpone my laundry and just run to Walgreens to buy new underpants. We would probably go grocery shopping once a week and I wouldn't have spent my morning drinking diet Cherry Coke and eating dessert mints today...oh, hell, I probably would. But still. I wouldn't be shoved back into the patterns of my previously uncommitted self so abruptly.
I know I'd marry this guy, if he asked. He is home to me. My home is with him. That is why being apart from him is so hard...I'm away from home when he's away from me.
I miss him. Remarkably badly, I might add. There's this hollow, weird feeling about the days, and I don't like it. We function fabulously well as a unit and as a slightly weird household team. He has his own apartment, of course, but he's at mine so often that he has keys and a particular place that he leaves his things. He has a little "Honey, I'm home" routine when he comes over. He walks the dog in the morning (I'm fostering a mutt). He keeps breakfast at my house.
We haven't been apart for more than two days since October and it's weird to have the routine abruptly changed. And since we're not TRULY cohabitating, there's a weird wash of loneliness and want. If we were living together properly, we would probably share a car, so that getting said dog to the kennel on Wednesday wouldn't be a chore. I would be in charge of the laundry, as that is the only chore I don't really mind, and I would be at home this evening, folding OUR things, instead of just my own. What I probably will do is postpone my laundry and just run to Walgreens to buy new underpants. We would probably go grocery shopping once a week and I wouldn't have spent my morning drinking diet Cherry Coke and eating dessert mints today...oh, hell, I probably would. But still. I wouldn't be shoved back into the patterns of my previously uncommitted self so abruptly.
I know I'd marry this guy, if he asked. He is home to me. My home is with him. That is why being apart from him is so hard...I'm away from home when he's away from me.
posted by Unknown at 4:13 PM
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