A Typical Day

For some reason it’s the realistic dreams that really twist my nerves. Like the dream I had last night about the man who tore my heart to bits acting like he wanted to be my best friend. I probably would’ve had a stomach ache after I woke up if I hadn’t rolled over and seen the man I’m in love with. 6:40am, “are you going to put that on snooze?” he asks and tiredly I say “yes” then roll over and hit snooze on the harry potter alarm, then hit snooze again, then see it’s 7:05 and force myself to sit up my body urges me to the bathroom. I stumble over him, the bed, clothes, myself. I take a piss, he takes a piss, life is good as I stare at his face neck clavicles chest nipples stomach hips—ooooh those hipssss… my head fuzzes up even more. Saying goodbye, kissing goodbye, hating goodbye. Three hours is too long. More weird dreams. Luckily I don’t have to wait long until I hear a knock—a knock that promises the sweet taste of heaven and promises of so much more to this life. Rush to the door “sorry babe, I was in the garage” I say to my Infinity. kisskisskisskisskiss mmmmm. Chores, chores, chores. Puppy. Food. Movie shortly followed by his beautifulhandsomewonderful face in my lap. Followed by something that begins with the letter S. Sweat, that’s right. Sweat… Oh, damn, time flies by too quickly when you’re having fun. Eat, five hours of work—which means five hours of people hungry for knowledge (or sometimes just needing to get away from their lives so they use the public computers and stare at the screen for two hours) and booksbooksbooks oh glorious books! And don’t forget music and movies…wwaaayyyyy too many movies. People LOVE movies. I wish they loved books more. Break time. Lean back in a chair with greasy, unhealthy but delicious food that soothes my soul…er, I mean stomach. Close my eyes and allow myself to find him. She walks in and he fades away and I’m forced to listen to her talktalktalktalk. Ears fallen in my lap now, I finally finish my food and get up. She’s still talking as I leave. That’s okay, I signed up for this. Two more hours, then… Home! Oh…home… Puppy play time. Me time. Nope, just kidding, she walks in the door. Let the 20 questions game begin! I wish I could just wear a sign that read I’M EITHER WORKING ON A PROJECT, IN DEEP THOUGHT, OR JUST DON’T WANT TO BE BOTHERED—I’LL TALK WHEN I’M READY—WHICH COULD BE A FEW DAYS FROM NOW. 25 questions later, she’s busy, I’m trying to release some of the tension I have stored up while waiting patiently for his eyes, mouth, hands, everything that is him to be in my arms again. The result? This. I’m only slightly pleased. He is a better writer than me.

Well, maybe not better. But different. Either way, I’m jealous.

I’ve never felt this way about someone who I love. What do I do? Can I live up to my expectations?

All I want to be is great.