I think about it ALL the time. A different "it".
I would also like to have someone here to talk to me in the morning. All the things I have pent-up to say. I want to hear their grumbling when the alarm goes off and see what they have to say about their dreams or what we should eat for breakfast or how they feel about all this damn snow. Inconsequential things.
I get to spend time with two friends I rarely see this weekend. I'm excited! And I get to see my favorite person on Sunday. I'm seeing less of him than I would like. That makes me a little sad. Okay, more than "a little." It's like life is forcing me to take that step back that my mind knows I should and the rest of me refuses to do. Sometimes (most of the time?) the things that are good for you don't feel good. Till later.
I smell like cigarette smoke. At least cigar smoke doesn't smell awful like this. It just reminds me of him.
I'm having meat for lunch. On my lean cuisine deluxe french bread pizza. That means no meat for dinner. And I'm going out. I should have planned better. But I ran out of lettuce and refused to venture out into the craziness that is nature in January.
I want some hot chocolate. And a hug. Maybe more of a cuddle.
I want all KINDS of things.
Every single paragraph, save this one, has started with the letter I. Makes me feel selfish, spending all this time talking about me. But that is why I'm here! It makes me feel better about things to just write about them. Somehow everything makes more sense when my fingers hit the keys and these symbols show up on the screen. And it works better when I post it to my blog. Like at least someone might hear me. Maybe. Not like when I save things to a word processor and they hide there inside folders inside folders. Things I cannot say to anyone. I hate that.
It may seem like I say absolutely anything at all here, but there are things I cannot say. I wonder if everyone has secrets. Not even secrets though, really. Not hidden things. Things so pointless that you wouldn't even talk about them. Like recording memories, maybe. I wrote this so I would never forget how it felt to be in your arms. In case it never happened again. I wrote this when I was angry and hurt and confused and I didn't want to tell you. This one is just me expressing how much I wished you felt the same way for me. How nice and horrible it feels to love you.
I wonder if it is always nice and horrible to love someone. If we must constantly hurt one another to get close. Little hurts. Sometimes big ones. People are confusing. And I don't always understand the intent behind the words and the actions. Don't know if you meant that one to sting. But it always has been just a little horrible and very, very nice. The good outweighing the bad. Is that how we choose which relationships to keep? The benefits of this relationship outweigh the cost. And in this particular one, the benefits are much higher than I'm used to experiencing. And so is the cost. Worth it still. But I see now that the ratio is shifting. Some internal balance mechanism thrown off center. Wavering. And how now will it end up? Because very recently the cost is much, much higher than before. And that sucks.
Time to leave for work.