all i knew how to do at that moment was cry. I sat, slumped in my chair and stared at the photo on my desktop.
In 100 days I will not have to worry about whether I have enough money to get the bus to work.
In 100 days I will not have to worry about when I will purchase my ticket back or how I will get to the airport…
In 100 days all I will need to worry about how how good I look when I land and the first thing I will say when I see him again.
Now I still find myself concerned and still have twinges, but am half-a-grand poorer.
And there we are. I officially leave my favourite place in the entire world in fifty-eight days.
At half past three on the morning of August 26th I will be drunkenly bundling all m y favourite people into a hired van after a night of celebrating the birth of my Pow and my last night in the country. We will nearly all be in fancy-dress and we will (hopefully) make it to the airport for four in the morning. it will be an emotional affair that will most likely break my heart harder than it was broken when I left america. The people I have bonded with over the last six years have grown to be so special to me and the thought of living without them bloody kills me.
But when you travel out, there’s a layer that makes-up about 1/28th of the rock that is a little out of control and that you just can’t maintain, no matter how hard you try… bits keep falling off. Like if you were to take a bowling ball, cover it in maple syrup and then roll it around in corn flakes then play catch with it. The bits just won’t stay on and things just get messy.
The main reason this layer is so out of control is because of the distance and time since we’ve seen one another…
The time for words has now expired and they seem to have become mechanical and monotonous for me.
I will love him as gently as he needs it and show him that it is possible for someone to be there for him unconditionally and selflessly.
In fifty-seven days I am going to be everything he ever wanted and I can’t wait.
Now, I don’t want to sound unreasonable, as I KNOW he is living with her and I KNOW that some interaction is unavoidable, as I have been there myself with my own special version of “The Estranged,” but in my opinion, there are two problems with the situation.
five hours ago i was in the middle of a jet-lag coma, certain i would never come out of it. i laid on the bed and apologized profusely to Muffin for being so tired. my head just simply refuses to play nicely with the Pacific time zone. i keep waking up when i would wake up in england...
who knows. i guess we just have to see what thursday brings us.
he feels like he's losing me. he held me so tight last night and said he didn't know what to do. i don't even feel like it's appropriate for me to ask for anything specific anymore... i just feel stupid when he gets like that. like i've done something wrong. i feel like i shouldn't have to ASK him to do nice things... i feel like he should want to do nice things for me if he feels like he's losing me, that i'm not going to tell him what to do.
he kinda told me some things and then, for some reason, announced to me that he kept a five-foot distance from her the entire time. i told him that it didn't look like it to me to which he replied, 'fuck off."
so, there we are. after a lovely seven-month anniversary day featuring him making me breakfast and us going on a workout date, we got to pander to his estranged wife and then come home to him holed-up in his "beat lab" playing guitar loudly and doing whatever else it is that he does in there...