My first trek into the San Joaquin Valley this week, brought stinging eyes, raw, sore throat, and a near-endless 3-hour car trip, with no music. I missed my Pookie, and wasn't going to see him for another week.
It's so difficult when you have a Pookie, to take out enough time to talk to him when busying on a business trip. And it made me sad when I got home, that poor Pook-a-licious M.W. was a sicky-boy.
The funny thing about my trip, was the way every body handled being lonely, differently. Several of the men, I knew to be married. I knew this, because I've seen wedding rings in the past. Not this trip. (Gross). Others very obviously got drunk and passed out, coming to the meeting the next day, totally hungover. One attempted to cozy up to me and told me about this hotel about 20 minutes north. Um... sorry dude, not interested. We (the two others from my office) drove around the canyon in the moon-light and then found a good pizza joint and had that and drank beers for a couple of hours, whilst watching SATC re-runs.
After getting home last night, it was quite obvious to me that 1) I like my home 2) My bed is lumpy, but mine 3) Home (I typo'd "hope") is where the heart is -- in other words, it's not where I live, but where I love (Still lonely, even after getting home).
Um, by the way, Valley Air is disgusting, and I don't like it.
Peace
Dot.
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1 comment:
Like, gag me with air.
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