I can't explain the level of my aggravation as Harry's been traipsing across the D.C. region having oodles of fun working 12 hour days while I was here watching bugs crawl up the wall.
How sad is that?!
Since he's been gone I've had no creative juices, no ring-a-ding-dings of inspiration for stories, no romantic inklings to light kindling afire upon his return, no fun projects, no painting of canvases, no stories written, blogs posted, recipes tried and tasted and tacked on the fridge, no new music was discovered, no songs of love were created, no games won, played or even attempted in my three weeks of hermit-induced solitude.
But I have cleaned a lot.
I do that - ya know - when the ol mojo is on hold-o.
Which has SUCKED. And, since my blog ALWAYS seems to loop back to it, let's talk about sex!
The last time I went this long without having my knickers punted to the side was, um, what year is it? The last time I can remember having a dry spell this lengthy was when my high school beau and I parted ways. He left me for a chick with a hump and a wonky eye from Salt Rock (no, really - I kid not). So I vowed celibacy for life.
He was my first, my only, my one true love and he'd broken my heart and left me in a heap of dirty laundry on the floor.
So, sis and I moved out and into a crack shanty of sorts.
I went to school. I went to work. I did every thing but pray in a black and white habit to solidify my nunish-ness.
And then - there he was. Baby-faced with blue eyes that sparkled with barely kept in check man-giggles and positively wreaking of a heavenly mixture of boy musk, Abercrombie cologne and garlic sauce from his day job at Papa John's pizza.
"Do you have anything?" he asked as my knickers were punted to the side (Ah - those were the days).
"No, of course not - I'm clean - not a thing wrong with meeeeooooooh - you mean - yeah- I have that, er those. Hold on," I giggled and ran around the room, topless, until I found the key that was hidden in the bear that opened the box that contained the Trojan horses needed to get past the gates.
We laughed and I wondered at the fact that two and half minutes was apparently NOT the average and - I was hooked.
Harry, not even skirting the age of 20, had brought me back from months at the nunnery and showed me that sex didn't have to be something that's skirted around.
Obviously - I learned that lesson well!
We lost each other after that. We dated others. We connected again - I was seeing someone else - and Harry was sporting pseudo dreads.
ButI was hooked - again.
Some trimming (both literally and figuratively) and here I sit - still. Waiting anxiously for my love to come home again and love me again.
To find me again.
To hook me again.
So pass the lemonade, peeps! Life gave me a bunch of lemons and I survived! I made it! Stung the eyes a bit and was a whole bunch of sour - but I made it. I can make it.
Well, until he comes home tomorrow, anyway!