You know, the annual mark. Celebrated once a year, on that special date. For Lover and I it just so happens to be on April 6. Following the biggest three weeks of our lives, meaning by the time our Anniversary rules around, all we will want to do is sleep. Wouldn't that be sexy?
I haven't any idea of what to get him, so I was hoping that one of you might be able to give me an idea. He loves things I make myself, but a list of items I could possible buy would also be fantastic (and save me some time).
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Dementia
Defined as: a syndrome (group of symptoms) associated with a progressive loss of memory and other intellectual functions that is serious enough to interfere with performing the tasks of daily life.
Tragically, the older women across the street from my grandmother has been diagnosed with said syndrome. It is one of the most heartbreaking things to visit and see this frightened woman's face pressed against the window. She forgets who she is, where she is, and it generally leads to a panic attack. It has gotten so bad that her husband has had to put a piece of ply wood to block the front door (from the outside) and fashioned all the doors with child-safety devices.
Ever since the woman has been affected with this syndrome, my grandmother has been rushing over to the house to hear the latest gossip from her poor tragic-struck husband. Naturally she brings food to justify her coming over, and he pours his heart and soul out to her, thinking that it is a private matter. Only it's not.
My grandmother has been using the woefully depressing stories of this older woman as dinner conversation. Everyone laughs at how she sometimes gets out of the house and wonders around the block, dazed, lost and confused. They frown at just the right moments, cluck their tongues and whisper under their breath a pray for the poor husband. And everyone time I bring it up about how awful exploiting the situation is, my grandmother simply snaps, "I bring them dinner!"
Oh, well then by all means, continue.
Is anyone as disgusted as I am?
(Up next: My best friends boy)
Tragically, the older women across the street from my grandmother has been diagnosed with said syndrome. It is one of the most heartbreaking things to visit and see this frightened woman's face pressed against the window. She forgets who she is, where she is, and it generally leads to a panic attack. It has gotten so bad that her husband has had to put a piece of ply wood to block the front door (from the outside) and fashioned all the doors with child-safety devices.
Ever since the woman has been affected with this syndrome, my grandmother has been rushing over to the house to hear the latest gossip from her poor tragic-struck husband. Naturally she brings food to justify her coming over, and he pours his heart and soul out to her, thinking that it is a private matter. Only it's not.
My grandmother has been using the woefully depressing stories of this older woman as dinner conversation. Everyone laughs at how she sometimes gets out of the house and wonders around the block, dazed, lost and confused. They frown at just the right moments, cluck their tongues and whisper under their breath a pray for the poor husband. And everyone time I bring it up about how awful exploiting the situation is, my grandmother simply snaps, "I bring them dinner!"
Oh, well then by all means, continue.
Is anyone as disgusted as I am?
(Up next: My best friends boy)
Monday, February 16, 2009
Oh my!
How behind I am in my posts.
Hmmm.... Today is a very busy day for me, so perhaps tomorrow I will catch all up.
Let's see what we have to cover:
These will be an interesting next four posts.
Hmmm.... Today is a very busy day for me, so perhaps tomorrow I will catch all up.
Let's see what we have to cover:
- Doctors appointment (cringe)
- Valentines Day (scream)
- An incurable disease used as dinner laughs (gag)
- A dear friends boyfriend obsessed with me, going so far as to call me mistress (cringe, scream, gag)
These will be an interesting next four posts.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Dear Submissive:
Going through old writing pieces to recycle and move out of my folder, I found an old letter I wrote to Lover's parents after another grounding for a less than legitimate reason. I believe that this time he had been grounded for saying something was "ridiculous". This was about 10 years ago, give or take a few years.
Dear Submissive,
It seems that Lover is grounded again. Ah, what a shock. I figured things had been going too well these last couple of weeks, so it was only a matter of time before you thought of something to lock him away for. And like always—something else that doesn’t come as a big surprise—the reason was for nothing. Like the time you grounded him for two weeks because he came by my house to get his jacket before taking his little brother to the park. Or the time you forbade him from seeing me after he was five minutes late home. Even though we had tried to call you to tell you that dinner would be running late because the barbecue wasn’t working properly.
So when Lover called me at 8 o’clock, the time we are allotted to begin our hour conversation (because God forbid I call him at seven, or that we talk for an hour and a half rather than an hour), and told me he was grounded for saying something was ridiculous, I can’t say I was too surprised. Granted I was upset, but not at all surprised. Though I suppose you wanted me to be upset.
Because you are always trying to make me upset, trying to break my spirit, showing me in little ways that you will never approve of Lover dating me, of him loving me, of us being together. Little things that I always smile and bear, laugh at, but deep inside remember. Forever.
Like the time you told me that because we hang out twice a week (one for a couple of hours after school and the other for half a day on Sundays) you felt that Lover was obsessed with me. That he wasn’t spending any time with his friends, that we were holding each other back, that he was always trying to see me and be with me. Even though Lover hangs out with his friends just as much as he hangs out with me. Even though all of our teachers have told us that we are top of the line and how glad they are that we are together.
Because all we have ever asked for from you was to hang out three times a week in the summer. We even had a schedule, just to make you and Dominate happy: One day a week we would be able to see each other from lunch to dinner on one of his three days off from work. Another day we would be able to hang out breakfast to lunch, before I went to work. And another of our three allotted days we would hang out after work, about six, to dinner and maybe a movie.
You two agreed, saying that it was a fabulous plan. And then you grounded him any chance you got. For forgetting to let the dog out he was grounded for a week. For sitting to close to me on the couch he was grounded for another week. For attempting to braid a section of my hair after I had just cut it all off and kissing me check before telling me I was beautiful he was grounded for two weeks. When he wasn’t grounded, he was threatened with a grounding.
Do you remember Submissive how shocked you were when C threatened to move out, just after his 18th birthday? Even though he was still in high school. Remember how shocked you were, how vehement he was towards you and Dominate and how much it bothered you. The only difference between C and Lover is that C is ambivalent, a fool. Though he also had to deal with random, unprovoked groundings, there were not as frequent as Lovers. Lover will move out, as soon as he turns 18. Count on it. And all I will do is laugh.
You lost C and Lover and are in the process of losing B. How does that sound? How does that make you feel?
You are both childish. When a son grows up, his parents ought to grow with him. But not you two. No. Rather than growing, being there for you sons, helping them on the path, you two regressed. Rather than pointing them in the right direction, you pushed them off the path and kept them down with a heavy heel on their throats.
Before Lover’s father died he did a fantastic job raising three fantastic boys. Boys instilled with values and morals. Boys who open the door for people, always say please and thank you, aren’t afraid to be silly and always serious when needed. Beautiful boys who have faces that are meant to smile.
You put a frown on their faces. All you have done in the years since their father’s death is play God with them, force them into a position where they either obey or face the consequences. You lay down rules and expect obedience, refuse to listen to reason, explain any of your “decisions” and make everyone suffer when these intelligence boys ask you, “why?” Never in a snotty way, mind you. But in a curious way, one open for you decision.
Why should I ask permission when it is so much easier to ask for forgiveness? Because either way they will face the wrath of two children playing house: If they ask to do something you do not like, they are punished. If they do something you did not permit, they are punished. You treat them as if they are bunch of common place criminals. They do not sneak off to do drugs nor do anything else dangerous.
What was the worst thing that Lover ever did? While you two were at work he bought a dozen roses from the store right down the street and then walked the four blocks to my house to leave them on my front steps. He was gone and back in less than 20 minutes and the only reason you know is because he told you. And he was locked away from two weeks. You instilled in him the ideology that since he will punished for everything he does he might as well do it.
To you I am your biggest enemy, though I have done nothing to prove to you I deserve anything but your respect and trust. In your home you ask that Lover and I act like a pair of strangers, never holding hands nor sitting too close on the couch, and by these rules we obey. Yet still you show me nothing but animosity. You see me as the reason for your son’s withdrawal and so you try and end our relationship. You make it so incredible hard. But still I am here. How long has it been?
When I came into Lover’s life you made both his and mine a living hell, making his withdrawal the fault of yours. It was at that time that he would have liked nothing more than the support of his parents, but you failed to give that to him. You broke his heart.
How much would I love to have a normal relationship! To be able to talk more than an hour every day, especially on the weekends. How fantastic would it be for him to call me in the morning without you screaming at him after ten minutes that he has been on the phone for three hours and take it away from him.
How nice it would be if we could ask to see each other more than twice a week for a couple of hours without you two throwing a temper tantrum, fueling my belief that you are a pair of spoiled brats with power you don’t deserve. How nice it would be to be able to spend a day together, or to call each other up on a Saturday morning to make impromptu plans.
But because we can’t be a normal couple, or have a normal relationship, everything we do has to be a fine tuned dance, with the two of you leading a routine you have no idea how to do. And when you slip you blame us. You take everything out on Lover because he has a girlfriend who loves him, one who has been with him through thick and thin, and in your minds that is justification for everything you do. The fact that I have stayed this long only adds to your hostility, doesn’t it? How dare I love him. How dare we be one of the few couples who will be together for longer than you can possible imagine.
I am long past the point of trying to smile and be cordial towards the two of you. When Lover leaves I will laugh. Because at this point it is the least of which you deserve. It is the Universe throwing some poetic justice your way. And as only a lowly creature of the world, who am I to doubt the Universe and all that he does? It would be wrong for me to doubt, to be ungrateful. And oh am I grateful.
I have dealt with everything you two have thrown my way with grace and dignity. I have kept my head, and the worst I have ever done towards you was type this letter, although it will not be sent in the mail. I have handled everything beautiful and see it as a testimony to our relationship that Lover and mine’s song is Come What May and every part of it has rung true to this very day.
Two more years….
Two more years until I can finally look you in the eyes, laugh, and say,
“Fuck you.”
♥
Dear Submissive,
It seems that Lover is grounded again. Ah, what a shock. I figured things had been going too well these last couple of weeks, so it was only a matter of time before you thought of something to lock him away for. And like always—something else that doesn’t come as a big surprise—the reason was for nothing. Like the time you grounded him for two weeks because he came by my house to get his jacket before taking his little brother to the park. Or the time you forbade him from seeing me after he was five minutes late home. Even though we had tried to call you to tell you that dinner would be running late because the barbecue wasn’t working properly.
So when Lover called me at 8 o’clock, the time we are allotted to begin our hour conversation (because God forbid I call him at seven, or that we talk for an hour and a half rather than an hour), and told me he was grounded for saying something was ridiculous, I can’t say I was too surprised. Granted I was upset, but not at all surprised. Though I suppose you wanted me to be upset.
Because you are always trying to make me upset, trying to break my spirit, showing me in little ways that you will never approve of Lover dating me, of him loving me, of us being together. Little things that I always smile and bear, laugh at, but deep inside remember. Forever.
Like the time you told me that because we hang out twice a week (one for a couple of hours after school and the other for half a day on Sundays) you felt that Lover was obsessed with me. That he wasn’t spending any time with his friends, that we were holding each other back, that he was always trying to see me and be with me. Even though Lover hangs out with his friends just as much as he hangs out with me. Even though all of our teachers have told us that we are top of the line and how glad they are that we are together.
Because all we have ever asked for from you was to hang out three times a week in the summer. We even had a schedule, just to make you and Dominate happy: One day a week we would be able to see each other from lunch to dinner on one of his three days off from work. Another day we would be able to hang out breakfast to lunch, before I went to work. And another of our three allotted days we would hang out after work, about six, to dinner and maybe a movie.
You two agreed, saying that it was a fabulous plan. And then you grounded him any chance you got. For forgetting to let the dog out he was grounded for a week. For sitting to close to me on the couch he was grounded for another week. For attempting to braid a section of my hair after I had just cut it all off and kissing me check before telling me I was beautiful he was grounded for two weeks. When he wasn’t grounded, he was threatened with a grounding.
Do you remember Submissive how shocked you were when C threatened to move out, just after his 18th birthday? Even though he was still in high school. Remember how shocked you were, how vehement he was towards you and Dominate and how much it bothered you. The only difference between C and Lover is that C is ambivalent, a fool. Though he also had to deal with random, unprovoked groundings, there were not as frequent as Lovers. Lover will move out, as soon as he turns 18. Count on it. And all I will do is laugh.
You lost C and Lover and are in the process of losing B. How does that sound? How does that make you feel?
You are both childish. When a son grows up, his parents ought to grow with him. But not you two. No. Rather than growing, being there for you sons, helping them on the path, you two regressed. Rather than pointing them in the right direction, you pushed them off the path and kept them down with a heavy heel on their throats.
Before Lover’s father died he did a fantastic job raising three fantastic boys. Boys instilled with values and morals. Boys who open the door for people, always say please and thank you, aren’t afraid to be silly and always serious when needed. Beautiful boys who have faces that are meant to smile.
You put a frown on their faces. All you have done in the years since their father’s death is play God with them, force them into a position where they either obey or face the consequences. You lay down rules and expect obedience, refuse to listen to reason, explain any of your “decisions” and make everyone suffer when these intelligence boys ask you, “why?” Never in a snotty way, mind you. But in a curious way, one open for you decision.
Why should I ask permission when it is so much easier to ask for forgiveness? Because either way they will face the wrath of two children playing house: If they ask to do something you do not like, they are punished. If they do something you did not permit, they are punished. You treat them as if they are bunch of common place criminals. They do not sneak off to do drugs nor do anything else dangerous.
What was the worst thing that Lover ever did? While you two were at work he bought a dozen roses from the store right down the street and then walked the four blocks to my house to leave them on my front steps. He was gone and back in less than 20 minutes and the only reason you know is because he told you. And he was locked away from two weeks. You instilled in him the ideology that since he will punished for everything he does he might as well do it.
To you I am your biggest enemy, though I have done nothing to prove to you I deserve anything but your respect and trust. In your home you ask that Lover and I act like a pair of strangers, never holding hands nor sitting too close on the couch, and by these rules we obey. Yet still you show me nothing but animosity. You see me as the reason for your son’s withdrawal and so you try and end our relationship. You make it so incredible hard. But still I am here. How long has it been?
When I came into Lover’s life you made both his and mine a living hell, making his withdrawal the fault of yours. It was at that time that he would have liked nothing more than the support of his parents, but you failed to give that to him. You broke his heart.
How much would I love to have a normal relationship! To be able to talk more than an hour every day, especially on the weekends. How fantastic would it be for him to call me in the morning without you screaming at him after ten minutes that he has been on the phone for three hours and take it away from him.
How nice it would be if we could ask to see each other more than twice a week for a couple of hours without you two throwing a temper tantrum, fueling my belief that you are a pair of spoiled brats with power you don’t deserve. How nice it would be to be able to spend a day together, or to call each other up on a Saturday morning to make impromptu plans.
But because we can’t be a normal couple, or have a normal relationship, everything we do has to be a fine tuned dance, with the two of you leading a routine you have no idea how to do. And when you slip you blame us. You take everything out on Lover because he has a girlfriend who loves him, one who has been with him through thick and thin, and in your minds that is justification for everything you do. The fact that I have stayed this long only adds to your hostility, doesn’t it? How dare I love him. How dare we be one of the few couples who will be together for longer than you can possible imagine.
I am long past the point of trying to smile and be cordial towards the two of you. When Lover leaves I will laugh. Because at this point it is the least of which you deserve. It is the Universe throwing some poetic justice your way. And as only a lowly creature of the world, who am I to doubt the Universe and all that he does? It would be wrong for me to doubt, to be ungrateful. And oh am I grateful.
I have dealt with everything you two have thrown my way with grace and dignity. I have kept my head, and the worst I have ever done towards you was type this letter, although it will not be sent in the mail. I have handled everything beautiful and see it as a testimony to our relationship that Lover and mine’s song is Come What May and every part of it has rung true to this very day.
Two more years….
Two more years until I can finally look you in the eyes, laugh, and say,
“Fuck you.”
♥
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Nothing says "Good Morning"...
...like a phone call informing you your father is missing. And he has been for a month. And it seems like no one has filed a missing person's report.
When I first found out - and after the phone had been placed back in the cradle and I was safe from prying ears, from people who might judge me - I wasn't sure how I should feel. I've been out of contact with my father for years, and we left on a less than fantastic note.
Should I be happy that the bastard was getting what he got coming to him? I've always been a believer in Karma, and it just seems too crazy to ignore, to think that this isn't the World flipping my father a big "FUCK YOU".
My father is ungodly in his good looks, insanely smart, wealthy with his own business... and he knows how to manipulate people, especially giddy young women who can't help but fall head over heels in love with him. He also is a raging drunk and never afraid to put his women into place, teach them where the belong. Women should be seen, ogled and fondled, not heard. But once the poor women know who he is, it's much too late. They are stuck, forever, in his web, until he grows bored of them.
Proof: One of his girlfriends (that's right, he's in two to three long-term relationships) had been dating him for three years when he had a steamy affair with my mother and got her knocked up. They are still together, even today.
To say I hate my father is watering down my feelings for him. Words cannot express what I feel for this wretched men, but nonetheless, he's my father. I love him, if only for the fact that he gave me half of who I am. Also - and I have to give him this - he is the one who started communication between us when I was about 13 years old.
I'm upset that my father is missing because no matter how much I hate him, how much I would love to spit in his face and scream out years and years of pent up frustrating, I was always hoping, some place deep inside of me, that we could one day reconnect, catch up, be father and daughter again.
Except the reason we stopped talking, the reason I started pulling back from him, thus causing him to stop talking to me, is because he creeped me out. The way he looked at me on hot summer's days when I was in shorts and a tank top. Sneaking me into strip clubs. The sexual jokes. The prying questions about my budding sexuality. Lingering touches on the back of my neck. Stroking my legs.
Torn between a daughter's love and a victim's hate.
When I first found out - and after the phone had been placed back in the cradle and I was safe from prying ears, from people who might judge me - I wasn't sure how I should feel. I've been out of contact with my father for years, and we left on a less than fantastic note.
Should I be happy that the bastard was getting what he got coming to him? I've always been a believer in Karma, and it just seems too crazy to ignore, to think that this isn't the World flipping my father a big "FUCK YOU".
My father is ungodly in his good looks, insanely smart, wealthy with his own business... and he knows how to manipulate people, especially giddy young women who can't help but fall head over heels in love with him. He also is a raging drunk and never afraid to put his women into place, teach them where the belong. Women should be seen, ogled and fondled, not heard. But once the poor women know who he is, it's much too late. They are stuck, forever, in his web, until he grows bored of them.
Proof: One of his girlfriends (that's right, he's in two to three long-term relationships) had been dating him for three years when he had a steamy affair with my mother and got her knocked up. They are still together, even today.
To say I hate my father is watering down my feelings for him. Words cannot express what I feel for this wretched men, but nonetheless, he's my father. I love him, if only for the fact that he gave me half of who I am. Also - and I have to give him this - he is the one who started communication between us when I was about 13 years old.
I'm upset that my father is missing because no matter how much I hate him, how much I would love to spit in his face and scream out years and years of pent up frustrating, I was always hoping, some place deep inside of me, that we could one day reconnect, catch up, be father and daughter again.
Except the reason we stopped talking, the reason I started pulling back from him, thus causing him to stop talking to me, is because he creeped me out. The way he looked at me on hot summer's days when I was in shorts and a tank top. Sneaking me into strip clubs. The sexual jokes. The prying questions about my budding sexuality. Lingering touches on the back of my neck. Stroking my legs.
Torn between a daughter's love and a victim's hate.
Friday, January 02, 2009
I suppose it was just one of those days
I can honestly say that I have fully come to terms with the fact that I am quick to anger and when I get in one of those awful moods I'm sour and resentful. I cling on to things that transpired earlier while a nasty little cloud hung over me and my group, and because of it the rest of the day - no matter how many good little things happen sporadically through out it - it's overcast with just a touch of utter stubbornness.
Like today:
Since Lover was gone for Christmas and I was egregiously dramatic and depressed, I decided that it might be a good idea to get away from my mopey little dungeon for the next up coming big event, New Years Eve. And so I booked a flight and flew to the beautiful town of Sausalito to visit dear friends of mine for a week.
Today we decided that it would be fun to go into town and shop around, explore the local cafes and shop for gifts (on Christmas Eve, I had given a few relatives IOU slips, promising to buy them something while I was away on my leisure trip).
The day started out on a lovely note and I was wonderfully excited to visit a city I had never been to before and heard nothing but good things about. As we were leaving, I jokingly said to A (the husband), "Did you see the van?"
What I was referring to was a hilarious scene that unfolded the evening before in which S (wife) had tried, unsuccessfully, to park the company van. But between the ladder, the car in the adjacent spot and the car perpendicular to the spot we were trying to pull into, it was something of an impossible situation. When we finally put the van in park and opened the doors we discovered that we were stuck in a diagonal fashion. Laughs and hoots quickly followed as we climbed out over the car and stumbled into the house.
What I did not know was that later that evening, before A had returned, S had moved the van so it was parked properly, and in the process the front had been scratched. I was unaware of this, and when I made the crack S gave me a deadly look. Apparently, I was suppose to keep a secret I had no idea about.
When A saw the van, he was not pleased. It wasn't so much the scratch that bothered him, but rather than S had not told him. What bothered me was that all of a sudden, I was put in an awful situation. I had spilled the beans, and in doing so I created a tense, and awkward, situation.
Needless to say, the trip into the city was not fun. A was fussy all day, and I couldn't escape the feeling that S was annoyed with me. To make matters worse, I was annoyed with S for forcing me into a position where I was the bad guy.
When the trip finally ended and we returned home everyone was feeling calmer and more relaxed. Everyone that is except me. I clung fiercely to my annoyance and grief, and as the evening wore on, I was becoming madder and madder.
Then Lover called.
Without intending to, I lashed out at him. Short with my responses but quick with my tongue, I could tell that I was hurting him, but I couldn't stop myself. Lover knows me well enough to know what kind of mood I am in, and he has always been good about letting me rant and then calming me down when this particular one sets upon me, but tonight he must have been in a mood of his own because rather than being his regular self he was provoking me!
He was defending his wretched friend (don't ask how we got on that topic because I have no idea) - the one who is openly horrible to me - and snapping at me. When I would ask him a question, trying to work myself out of my mood, he would ignore me. At one point I laughingly said something about his personality, something I love and that he knows I do, he was quick to snap, "Obviously you don't know me at all."
By the time we finally got to the goodbyes of the phone call I could hear it in his voice, and feel it in my soul, that we were both tried of being mad. By the time we hung up, I felt like shit.
These three weeks apart during the holidays has sorely gotten to both of us. The sooner we are back in each others arm, the better.
Like today:
Since Lover was gone for Christmas and I was egregiously dramatic and depressed, I decided that it might be a good idea to get away from my mopey little dungeon for the next up coming big event, New Years Eve. And so I booked a flight and flew to the beautiful town of Sausalito to visit dear friends of mine for a week.
Today we decided that it would be fun to go into town and shop around, explore the local cafes and shop for gifts (on Christmas Eve, I had given a few relatives IOU slips, promising to buy them something while I was away on my leisure trip).
The day started out on a lovely note and I was wonderfully excited to visit a city I had never been to before and heard nothing but good things about. As we were leaving, I jokingly said to A (the husband), "Did you see the van?"
What I was referring to was a hilarious scene that unfolded the evening before in which S (wife) had tried, unsuccessfully, to park the company van. But between the ladder, the car in the adjacent spot and the car perpendicular to the spot we were trying to pull into, it was something of an impossible situation. When we finally put the van in park and opened the doors we discovered that we were stuck in a diagonal fashion. Laughs and hoots quickly followed as we climbed out over the car and stumbled into the house.
What I did not know was that later that evening, before A had returned, S had moved the van so it was parked properly, and in the process the front had been scratched. I was unaware of this, and when I made the crack S gave me a deadly look. Apparently, I was suppose to keep a secret I had no idea about.
When A saw the van, he was not pleased. It wasn't so much the scratch that bothered him, but rather than S had not told him. What bothered me was that all of a sudden, I was put in an awful situation. I had spilled the beans, and in doing so I created a tense, and awkward, situation.
Needless to say, the trip into the city was not fun. A was fussy all day, and I couldn't escape the feeling that S was annoyed with me. To make matters worse, I was annoyed with S for forcing me into a position where I was the bad guy.
When the trip finally ended and we returned home everyone was feeling calmer and more relaxed. Everyone that is except me. I clung fiercely to my annoyance and grief, and as the evening wore on, I was becoming madder and madder.
Then Lover called.
Without intending to, I lashed out at him. Short with my responses but quick with my tongue, I could tell that I was hurting him, but I couldn't stop myself. Lover knows me well enough to know what kind of mood I am in, and he has always been good about letting me rant and then calming me down when this particular one sets upon me, but tonight he must have been in a mood of his own because rather than being his regular self he was provoking me!
He was defending his wretched friend (don't ask how we got on that topic because I have no idea) - the one who is openly horrible to me - and snapping at me. When I would ask him a question, trying to work myself out of my mood, he would ignore me. At one point I laughingly said something about his personality, something I love and that he knows I do, he was quick to snap, "Obviously you don't know me at all."
By the time we finally got to the goodbyes of the phone call I could hear it in his voice, and feel it in my soul, that we were both tried of being mad. By the time we hung up, I felt like shit.
These three weeks apart during the holidays has sorely gotten to both of us. The sooner we are back in each others arm, the better.
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