Mmmm.. there are some weekends when I realise just how much I love being at home, baking and cooking and slow dancing in my living room with J, how much I love curling up in bed and reading and listening to the radio, how much I love taking long bubblebaths and reading over scone recipes.
And then, there are some weekends where a man really needs to use your flexible leg as a guitar, where you need to do the electric slide and talk way too loud, where you split what’s left of your beer with somebody who needs it more than you, where your mascara runs and your hair comes undone, you talk too close and there is too much contact, faces and necks and cheeks brushing and laughing…
It was a lovely weekend, with birthdays, spontaneous fridge raiding, leg wrestling, fingernail painting… But no J. He’s been away since Friday. And I came to the stark realization that while I am good at juggling everything in my life, that when it comes to being alone, I fail. Well. I mean, I don’t fail, I could make it just fine.. but this weekend our room looks like a tornado got into a drunken brawl with The Gap, was TKO’d and drooled on my sheets. And my bathroom looked like a college student lived there. As in, lived in the bathroom. As in, “Why is there Ham on Rye and a Bukowski book in my bathtub? And more importantly.. *munch..munch* yup. Still good.”
See what happens when I don’t have somebody to tell me to go to bed? To stop dancing around in a taco stand t-shirt doing the mash potato? To take that sandwhich out of my damn mouth because I don’t know where it came from?
Welcome home J.