The Trouble with Penguins
Home again, and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it. A tiny, selfish shred of myself was happy when Kev’s truck refused to start this afternoon. Maybe I was stuck, oh no, however shall I cope, smug grin. Only a small shred, though. There was genuine worry, because missing my flight would’ve meant waiting until Tuesday for the next flight out on Allergy, as nothing else would’ve been at all affordable. As wonderful as it would’ve been to have those extra few days, it’d only be staving off the inevitable. Classes start back on Wednesday. I can’t rightly say “shit on that”, tempting as it is. The other major part of worry was… well, shit. He kind of needs a working vehicle for work. So this is a really big problem. It’s not a good note to leave on… and I worry that it’s going to be more than a simple little nothing sort of problem.
I hope it’ll be ok. It’ll be ok. I hope it’ll work out.
Did get a ride to the airport — pops to the rescue. Damn, right? Yeah. Got checked in with a few minutes to spare, spent with my face pressed into Kev’s chest. Breathing in every last molecule of scent that I could. Getting as lost in the sound of his heartbeat as I could. Trying not to think of the weeks that would stretch ahead… ignoring everything that wasn’t at that very moment. His arms. Our warmth. Suspending the reality and indulging in this singular moment.
Bitte, bitte weck’ mich nicht / solang ich träum’ nur gibt es dich…
As I was telling Karey tonight, it wasn’t two minutes after I got to my gate that I heard someone’s phone go off, blaring ‘Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)’. A real, honest to god, genuine facepalm moment was had. With much force. And much disgust. Reality kicked back in, rubbing my face in the fact that I was going back home. I can’t say that’s the most hate I’ve ever been filled with, but it was a pretty good amount.
I cried somewhere over Tennessee while the chaw-packing dude across the aisle, in a hunting jacket and worn-out hick-ass boots, stared.
The sun fell behind the horizon, and I watched for Lexington. As soon as we got close enough to see some landmarks, I did feel a surge of excitement again. I guess I am glad to be home again. Much as I bitch about the less desirable folk, I can’t help but love Kentucky. It is home, after all. The worthwhile people are fantastic. The scenery is amazing. The atmosphere is just… warm. Pleasant. Everything moves at a slower pace, relaxed, comfortable. In spite of everything, I smiled. This is, after all, where we’re weaving those first threads of our life. There are countless places we can go from here, but this is where it’s gonna start. Even though the wait is long, I’m happy to know it’s coming. Not soon enough, but soon. Here.
So, I’m happy to be home, in a sense. But crushed by the thought of all this time. And pained by the fact that once again, I have to live on memories. I have to remember his scent, his breath, his heartbeat. I have to long for his arms to crush my sides again. I have to deal with going to sleep alone again. Yes, I am saying I will miss waking up without his knee up my ass. There a lot of crazy, simple little things about every-day that I am going to miss. Hard.