Summer in the city is cleavage cleavage cleavage
All week I’ve been listening to the Regina Spektor tune Summer in the City, because D’UH it IS summer in the city, but mostly because Christopher’s been in Texas all week. This is the longest we’ve been apart since we got together more than three years ago and I miss him.
I feel like I should write “cue violins” now. Like I should spin the sappiness into sarcasm, but it just wouldn’t be truthful.
Here’s the truth: I miss him. I miss telling him about my day and walking the dog at night and his breathing and knowing he’s in the next room and sitting on our new back porch and having him read to me and making him a martini and a thousand other things, and, yes, I went out with my friends and had a great time and yes, I got a lot of work done and yes, we still spoke everyday on email or phone and yes, it’s only been a week and he’ll be home in no time and yes, so I’m so so so lucky that I have him and I should be able to go a week without him but whatever, I MISS HIM.
What’s funny is, that Spektor tune is really sad—really beautiful, but really sad—and I don’t remember the last time I listened to a sad song.
And that might be the happiest thing ever.