Enjoy Your Shit Soup

I haven't updated for some time due to a newly developed phobia of making statements other than "I'm so tired". I could've written...I could've written every night last week, to combat the overwhelming lonliness that invaded our home when the love of my life was replaced by his absence (made tangible in pillow form, of course, because I am indeed that pathetic and he is indeed that much a part of my life). Instead I watched television. Anyone who knows me in the slightest is now gasping in shock and panic, as this is indeed a very serious statement. Yes, I was that depressed, and that lost, that I actually turned on the television. Even worse...I watched channels that were not PBS. My world is collapsing.

I was rescued from my self pity stupor by my best friend and big sister, Chanteuse, who opened her home and her arms (as she always does) for me to run into to hide from cancer, lonliness, and the fact that I've been feeling like the walls are closing in on me and I just can't take any of this anymore. And her expansive arms, heart, and liquor and wine cabinet provided the respite and comfort I was indeed craving. Since my brother died, I've always said there's noone that knows you or will ever know you like a sibling does, and no one who has to be there for you no matter what. Chanteuse and I have proven that the same thing applies to chosen siblings, and that fact and reality are stored in my personal treasure chest as the precious cargo they are. Saturday night we had the grown up version of a slumber party (ie same gossip with copious amounts of wine thrown into the mix) and Sunday we made homemade ornaments for my very first Christmas tree ever (yes, WB celebrates Christmas so the Chanukah grinch has taken leave this season). We were crafty, crazy, and cuddly...the perfect runaway weekend if you ask me.

The Wild Boar gets home tonight...in fact, I'll actually leave work at a decent hour to go home and get the apartment in some semblance of order (ie kick shit under the bed) and then I'm off to Newark airport for the 2nd time today, as my beloved did not bring any sort of appropriate winter garb with him and it will be less than 30 degrees when he gets here. I somehow think a zipup sweatshirt won't really cut for an island boy caught in freezing temperatures. Five more hours, and all that is good will be restored in my world.

In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy my lunch, oh so appetizingly dubbed by that self same big sister shit soup. There's a whole huge extended metaphor there, but I have neither the time nor the energy to explore it. Sometimes you just gotta eat your shit soup and refrain from examining it all that closely, you know?