We made love and dumplings, fried and boiled. I got lost into his cuteness. And we watched Kathy Griffin’s My life on D list. I slept a lot, most of which into his arms, and he in mine. I have also cleaned his keyboard, teased him about that and loved him nevertheless.
It was not love. It was COLD.
As the water was dripping down his body and swirling into the drain, he was waking up. Waking up shivering. Waking up and shivering. Not what he intended, the shivering.
And he was realizing yet another difference between communism and capitalism. In capitalism you pay by the meter for what you’re getting. In communism you pay by the meter for how much you’re getting. These were his thoughts at six a.m. while taking his cold shower coming down to him from the hot water pipe. He was still in communism, obviously, he thought. “And also this is what you get for being first”, he issued yet another Simonism before he got sucked into making ready for his imminent trip to his lover.
During the weekends I feel loved, surrounded by friends and their attention, I get presents, I get to smile and do little silly things, like coming early in your arms, going to the movies, making the “lip face” like you.
During the week days I feel incompetent, overwhelmed, depressed, I lack interest, which in turn makes me less interesting, and that is my reason to be.
I might be dependent. The drug of my choice? You.
We talked about dreadlocks. It was purely fictional.
Like instead of me? Like call Romer!can. Like write a post on how outraged I am about the lack of promotion for GayFest (that starts tomorrow). Like ask Mazi why she switched her blog to private. Like how much I enjoy listening to Kenneth Bager.
I am overwhelmed. I have also had an almost near death allergy situation this morning. Send me your money and good wishes. Thank you.
LATER EDIT: The ill repute Windows/Picasa habits die hard. I am still fighting, but it’s both frustrating and funny to post a picture the size of the above. I promise to get better real soon.
Sleeping next you that afternoon was as good as talking to you.
Relax, nobody gets hurt. That’s mostly around myself. Take yesterday, for instance. The moment I got out of the house, I caught a little fly between my eyelids. Isn’t that special?! OK, OK, it was my righ eye, but still. Thirty minutes, a panic attack, two pharmacies, and half a bottle of eye wash later I have managed to remove the little thing. It has not survived the above mentioned hardships. Do you know the joke with the crocodile tamer and the blonde? Yeah, that’s how I felt, only nostrils dried from the antihistamines.
In other unrelated news, I have been to the bookshop. That’s the thief of my heart, now that the boyfriend is in the mountains. Buying books, underline buy, not read, makes me feel intellectual. Of course, at a cost. Also being the gay I am I have bought Madonna’s latest. And Lenny Kravitz’s. Tell you what, you wannabe DJs, these two don’t go together, not for the time being, I’ve tried.
And now off to work, celebrating by doing this Labour Day.
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