Evening Report

Louis wrote the two entries before. Now, Jack is writing again.

My Mikey is packing….not his own stuff. I assume that’s pretty much packed up already. I’m not sure of it, though. Right now, being sure of ANYTHING would probably be a fucking miracle! I’m so insecure, and My Mikey always takes it as insults that I have a hard time believing certain things. I can see why he would, but it’s not intended that way. You know what they say….the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

Anyway, he finally made it back from RadioShack, taking care of his cell problem. The nincompoops had sent his payment in with the wrong phone number. All is well again, now.

I took a nap, this time. Been awake about an hour or so, and My Mikey called briefly. He’s got his “I can’t feel sympathy for you” thing going on right now, which is as it should be, I guess. He’s busy trying to get home. That’s what I fear, though. Is he coming? He says so, and I have two choices….believe it OR don’t believe it. I choose to believe it. He’ll be boarding an Ole Grey Dawg tomorrow, which will bring him to his over-eager husband in Tejas.

So…..what rings my bell right now? What trips my trigger? What floats my boat? Ummmmmmm

I am just hoping he actually calls and we can talk as it turns midnight here. The women are there, though, so I am trying to prepare myself for the inevitability that he CAN’T call to ring in the New Year with me. Thank God he’ll be home soon.

I need to go cry. Fuck me. I hate myself.

My Mikey, I love you forever times PI cubed plus one,

Your Asshole Husband Jack