A Bed of One’s Own

Oh, the Temptation to write a long, Wolfian passage about pencils or death of the death of pencils or something of the such is so overwhelming, but i won’t.

Ari went on vacation for two weeks. Two weeks seems like so much time. It seems silly, i know, but i just got used to, accustomed to, and then very happy with him being there. Night and Day. (when possible). And, now he’s in New York City visiting is family and watching his friends graudate. Two weeks while i am unemployed, he is gone. And i miss him.

It know it is silly, but i miss him; however, i will get used to sleeping alone again. i will be parched for a while, and when he’s back i will welcome him, again.

It is scary allowing someone under the shell. Although he has only felt a small portion of who i am. i don’t want him to see it all yet. It’s dark and scary under the shell. i don’t know if he’s ready for that.

And then there’s everything else. i had my tonsils out about a week and a half ago, and i am finally starting to really heal. i’ll be better again in no time.

And i did quit that god-awful job. And i did say things might be okay. Wait, i didn’t. But they might.

i always wanted to keep myself under lock and key from this sort of thing.

And the pencils.

And Death.

Ha!