Thursday, March 15, 2012

•{On Missing You}•

Rainn Wilson will I follow, for I  Dwight Shrute!
In my case, I put on one of The Hubb's shirts.

Got hitched. Shacked up. Cooped up in a bed. I got so used to having Sailor Boy within arm's reach. It was nice. I enjoyed cuddling in all its suffocating-glory. Hah! It was too nice. I got so comfortable it resulted to total loss of control of my jaw muscles which caused me to snore. Fact. But really now, I'd slip into bed, under the covers and there I felt protected [mostly because my husband is 6" tall and a beast]. Then I'd fall asleep, safe and sound.

Reality never fails to check in though. It's sad that our married life is predisposed to long distance.

Sleeping is hard to get by when he isn't around. I sleep, restless, not knowing what I'm antsy for. I wake up feeling robbed, Hypnos did not indulge me. When we're in different countries, transition is made easy with the help of Skype. We keep it on, giving us the illusion when we wake up in the middle of the night that the other is just right there beside us. It's as close as we're going to get, the next best thing to the real thing. But when the whimsical ship calls and commands for an underway, it leaves us with nothing -- our bubble is popped. Destroyer, you capricious little thing. Our bubble bursts.

So I try to repair the bubble just like I used to do with those plastic balloons I played with as a kid -- I take the torn ends together and purse my lips tight around it -- I put on one of The Hubb's shirts. To complete my fool's paradise, I top it off with a spritz of Touch. 
Thus have I created in my paradise, a quasi-comfort.