Strange memories of this weekend on this Sunday night. I haven’t been on
e2 since Thursday afternoon; for posterity I will attempt to record everything that happened this weekend, regardless of the current
tapioca-like state of my
brain.
Thurday evening Beautiful Girl makes the drive north to come and see me. As soon as I see her face I know something is wrong. She spun the car on the way up; not too bad—no damage to the car—but she is a little shook up and her back and neck have nearly seized with tension. I kiss her face and realize how much I missed her.
Friday morning came and went as the two of us slept soundly wrapped around each other and under a huge mound of blankets. After we woke to face the day it was decided that we should drive to Lake Placid for the hell of it as we should really be doing things of this sort while we are still young and stupid. The drive there is plagued by unplowed roads and sketchy directions, but we get there okay and have a fine afternoon running in and out of shops without buying anything more expensive than a hot chocolate. After a cheap dinner—not an easy thing to find in Lake Placid‚ we enjoy a round of bowling. I bowl a respectable 145, Beautiful Girl does poorly on account of the ball being too heavy.
The weather had been steadily getting worse as the day wore on, and we seriously toyed with the idea of getting a room for the night; partially due to the weather and partially due to the thrill of a different roof over our heads and cable TV. After learning what a motel room goes for these days (fsucking seventy-eight dollars!), we decide to try for home. The roads are awful, and an hour trip takes over twice as long. We get return home very late and exhausted. I make love to Beautiful Girl in the early morning as Mir ever-so-gently smashes into Earth's atmosphere and burns.
Saturday was a sleepy day. After taking care of a few errands in the morning, I returned home to find my love watching MST3k in my robe. Finished the program, and then crawled back into bed to sleep away the afternoon. Such a wonderful feeling to disregard everything and snooze instead.
It is a horrible thing to wake beside a pretty woman to the sound of an alarm and realize that you'll soon be sleeping alone again. Beautiful girl rose—naked and sleepy-eyed—to dress and kiss me goodbye before leaving to go home. I fell back into bed and dreamed exceedingly odd snatches of dreams that I cannot recall anymore. Today I ran thought more errands, including four hours of interviewing applicants for employment. The cold slap of reality stings as I run through my day, and I find myself now with little more than my autonomic functions active and no pretty woman to curl up with.
This daylog is a debacle. I should know better than to write when I'm like this.