See Name Of This Blog

Zi and I named this blog Bare And Raw because that's how we want to be with each other. Bare and raw. In everything from sex to emotions. And I *love* that concept. I expect nothing less from Zi, and I know he expects bare honesty from me, too. But here's the hard part. I'm a chicken shit.

And that's so stupid coming from an artist.

If I paint something, or sculpt something, or write something, I am laying naked on a stage. Vulnerable. Letting my insides leak out. People can see everything.

And it's the same for me with sharing emotions. If I let my 'all' outside my skin, who will like me? Will I be driving away the very people I love and need right then?

My therapist said that if I act in a certain way in order to make someone else feel/do/say something, I am 1) being manipulative (ouch), and 2) I'm not showing up and being authentic. And if I don't show up as who I am, flaws and all, then how can I expect others to love the real me -- if I don't show them that.

So here's me saying something I've been afraid of saying:
I'm confused.

I'm starting to feel different about this long-distance relationship. But I don't know what that means. Or if it means anything. And lots of times I'm afraid to look at it, for fear of it showing me something I don't want to see.

I used to find joy in imagining Zi with me during the day. I'd be sitting on the couch typing, and imagine him in the kitchen making me tea, and I'd smile. I'd be driving in the van doing errands and imagine him sitting next to me, talking. I'd go to sleep and pull a pillow close, or wad the comforter up and throw my leg across it, imagining they were Zi. My Aashik. And I'd smile. I'd wear his clothes, his cologne, drink his brand of tea. Drink coffee in the morning even when I didn't want to, because I knew where he was, he was doing it, too. I'd do it all with a smile.

I'd Skype with him every day. Look forward to it. Run to the computer with a smile. Talk to him on his lunch hour and text him frequently. All with joy in my heart. I felt close to him. Sharing our love together. Feeding off of each other.

But lately...

I don't feel joy in any of that.
It's depressing now.

I used to find joy in coming up with exciting new sexy videos to send him; now even masturbating seems depressing.

Why is that?

Not about the masturbating, but the rest of it.

Why would something that once brought me joy, now fill me with black clouds?

I used to find joy in planning our future out, and imagining our visits together. Now thinking about the future is depressing. Aashik has said this is true for him, too, though, and so he just doesn't think about it.  Maybe what's happening is I'm trying that tactic, and my result is .... a distancing.

If I try not to have such constant contact with him (which previously helped me breathe and make it so I could get through the day), because now it reminds me that we live three thousand miles apart from each other, then what happens is: a distance between his soul and mine. A cooling. In an effort to protect my heart, am I pushing away my Zi?

He says that he's been feeling something different between us lately. Is it this? Is it depression (mine or his)? Or is it me pms-ing and I'll feel totally different in two weeks? Relieved. Full of imagery again. Planning for our next visit again.

These are the things I don't like sharing with anyone ... *especially* Zi, because what if pms is really all it is? What if this is just a different kind of missing him? What if this is just a blue day? And what if it is just one of those things, but Zi takes it to heart and panics and breaks up with me?

But what if it's not?
What if it's not one of those things, but something else entirely?
The thing I don't want to look at.

What if I've met the One, the best guy in the world for me, but it's just not the right time? What if I just can't handle this distance? I'm so lonely.

I go out with my girlfriends. I plan, organize and hold a Divorced Ladies Support Group once or twice a month where I laugh; talk about boobs, porn and dating; eat cupcakes and drink vodka. I'm reading all the time. I watch movies all the time. I'm a mom, which means I'm just doing stuff, all the time. I work part time at a restaurant. I'm trying to write/edit/promote. I'm exercising. I'm trying to learn a new language. I'm dancing now. Just signed my divorce papers. And I'm stupidly looking for a new apartment that will take dogs. And trying to get a hold on to my finances.

The point is: I fill my days. And my nights. And my weekends.
I have hobbies.
And I have love.
And I still feel lonely.

So what do I do?

Do I ignore the loneliness? What if that causes it to fester and rot into something even uglier?

Do I talk about it to my friends? While my friends love me and want the best for me, sometimes that doesn't translate to encouraging my long-distance relationship. So, it's ... non-productive at times to talk about me and Zi to them.

Seriously. What do I do?

Do I ride it out in this half-dead, auto-pilot existence? Hmm. If I'm only half-dead now, a year or two of this will finish me off.

Do I cut down on my contact with Zi? If I dive into my hobbies and interests and try to feel like not-a-boring person, I'll be more interested in myself. I might get excited about things again. And I'll have things to talk about with Zi again (instead of same old 'picked up kids from school/hard day at work/did you find a job yet' conversations.) Maybe I'll find *me* again. Maybe I've pulled this relationship with Zi up so far past my shoulders that it's covering me completely. Maybe I'm lost. Maybe I'm not real anymore.

Am I here?

What's real?

Is it my loneliness?
Is it feeling like I'm going to throw up when I think of living even the next four *months* without Zi -- let alone the one year that I'm telling myself that it will be, even though I know underneath it'll be closer to two years?
Is it wanting this relationship with Zi so much that I'm falling apart at the seams and then wondering if I want it because it's real, or because it's what I have right now?
Is it wanting to meet Jimmy for a cup of coffee, not because I want to start dating him again, but because he and I once loved each other (sort-of), and if I'm around him, maybe I'll get some of that love vibe in the airwaves and I can feel like a human again?
Or is it wanting my totally-platonic-like-a-brother-that-snuggles friend to come over and hold me so I *don't* contact Jimmy for that cup of coffee and find out I *do* miss him?

What is real?

Is it that I have a beautiful Indian lover in NJ that loves me and wants me, for me, no matter the cost, the challenges, the distance, the hardships, the taboo? Is it that he'll care for me always and worship me and make all my dreams come true?
Is it that I have a deep and penetrating connection to him that I fear living without?
Is he The One?

I don't want to look inside me to know the answers to these questions.
I want to just know.

Is this depression?
Is this missing Aashik?
Is this serious?
Is this something to just ride through?
Is is PMS?
Is it that I just haven't seem him in going on three months now? Without an end in sight. Sure. "When he gets his apartment." But (head shake) if he gets his apartment, that means he isn't coming to the NW any time soon. So I'm not really wishing for that either -- even though it means I'll get to see him.

And here's one last thing. When I'm with Zi in the present, I *never* *never* *never* have these thoughts. Ever. So, this is not me having seconds thoughts about Zi. This is me wondering how to be in relationship with him and still be fully alive. Not on auto-pilot. Auto-pilot hurts too much.

Maybe this is just my spirit's way of telling me that I need to see him every two months, no matter the cost, or I can't survive this.

I love you so much, Zi.
I want you.

Again

I’m staring at the wall again.

It feels like a boulder is pressing on my lungs again.

I’m in that place where I can’t breathe. Where I can’t think. Where I can only mourn.

Whatever that means.

I’m in that place, again, where all I want to do is sleep. Where all I want to do is watch movies to escape.

Again.

Where I want to touch myself to forget.

Where I want to touch myself to remember.

Again.

I’m in that place again where sleep often mocks me dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd unless I’m falling asleep at the keyboard.

Where I float through my life’s existence like a ghost, watching from above.

I want to crawl under a mossy log and hide from drippy wet rain that seeps into the knees of my jeans, and mats my hair.

It’s that time again where I have to breathe fast and shallow to get enough air, because my lungs have so much weight on them I can’t wiggle out from under it.

It’s that time again when the alarm is going off and I can’t find the off switch.

It’s that time again where I turn the crank on the popcorn maker and nothing pops. I just turn and turn and turn. And I think of how that’s a pretty crummy metaphor for my life right now, but then a breeze forces it’s way past the blinds and lifts my hair, cooling me.

And tickles my calves.

And I smile in spite of myself.

I'm really good at lying

I’m really good at lying to myself. But I wish I weren’t.

“I love the extreme-ness of my boot camp class. It’s the only way I can get myself to do exercise.”  (It sucks ass. I hate it.)

“I want to read books and review them for my blogs. It’ll be good for platform building and give me new content.” (Assigned reading has become my enemy. I’m starting to hate it. A chore list to hock spit wads at.)

“Leading the meetings for the writer’s organization I’m in is fulfilling and will be great for networking. I’ll meet so many authors!” (Chore list. And I’m uber anxious over remembering the random yet oh so important tasks that come up never at once but all spread out during the month … like, sending out press releases and contacting the speakers to confirm they are coming. And then … getting a babysitter for the meeting night and running the meeting, and driving the babysitter home with the kids in the car at 9:30 at night on a school night because the babysitter doesn’t have a car yet. Fuck, maybe she doesn’t even drive.)

“I love my job!” (It’s hard work … even if it’s only three or four hours a day, five days a week. Right in the middle of the day. My most productive writing hours of the day.)

“This divorce is easy. No sweat. Nothing much has changed, really. Hahaha.” (The parenting visitation schedule blows just a little bit. My ex didn’t bother to lose weight until after I split. I don’t get to go to Costa Rica. And I miss my fucking dog.)

“I have plenty of money.” (Ok. So this one isn’t a lie, but I can’t seem to figure out what I’m doing wrong on the managing of it and it’s super stressful. Paycheck to paycheck stressful.)

“Living in an apartment is way easier. I really like where I live.” (I miss my dog. I miss having chickens. I miss my hot tub. I miss having a back yard and the ability to grow something in the earth. I miss the damn roses I planted that look great in my ex’s yard. I miss my washer and dryer.)

“Sure I miss N. but we’re doing great on the communicating long distance and I’m taking it one day at a time. I can handle the distance and the time apart. He’s totally worth the wait.” (Ok. So most of this isn’t a lie either. I do love him. He is totally worth the wait. But I’m not taking it one day at a time; I’m not handling the distance and the time apart. It’s been 74 days since I’ve been in the same room with him. Touched him. Kissed him. Or held him. I’m starting to fall apart. I’m lonely. I’m depressed. I’m getting tired all the time. I don’t want to eat anything. Except maybe marshmallows … and I hate marshmallows. And I’m staring at the walls again. I’m irritated all the time now and … I’m finding it hard to breathe. And I hate everything. And I’m … thinking too much. And … I’m trying to repress my desire for male attention.)

Babeland Affiliate!

Hooray!

You are looking at a new Babeland affiliate and sex toy reviewer. You've no idea how happy this makes me. Or how happy this makes Zi. Bless his horny little heart. 

So why am I excited about shopping at Babeland and reviewing their toys?

Let me just tell you. First off, they are a women-owned independent sex toy shop in Seattle, WA and NYC. Babeland opened in 1993 when Claire Cavanah and Rachel Venning  found a lack of women-friendly sex shops in their area. I love their educational component ... even down to YouTube videos on how to use certain products.

I like Babeland because they are classy and not creepy. "The store offers top quality products, a pleasant place to shop, and most of all, information and encouragement to women who want to explore their sexuality." They've received 31 awards or honors since 1998, and have been featured or mentioned in over ten print and online magazines. They are 'what's happening.' And I'm proud to be affiliated with them.


Also, there are these reasons for shopping at Babeland, too.


Reviews coming soon!

Yearnings -- a sex toy PREview.

That's right.
You heard me.
Yearnings.

Everyone's got 'em.
And boy do I got 'em.

When Aashik and I are together, we make porn of ourselves. That way, when we're horny for each other later, we can masturbate to each other. It's sweet/hot/sexy all wrapped up in a red satin ribbon. In fact, even thinking about watching it makes me hunger for him. And you all know what happens to women "down there" when we get hungry.

So what's a girl to do?

I like a little (ok maybe a lot of) variety in my sex life. So, when your lover lives across the continent from you, it takes a large dose of creativity to, well, have masala in my bedroom. Or couch, as the case may be.

Zi likes to say, "There are a lot of ways to skin a cat," which I think is a gross way to introduce masturbation, but there you have it. There are a lot of ways to masturbate. And I try to mix it up a lot so that it stays interesting for me. Here all alone, as it were.

So I've got me some toys. :) Some lube, a vibrator, a dildo and a hefty imagination. Not to mention a video camera. (I am compelled to send Zi video footage of my 'sessions.' After all, it does make the man so happy.) And one of my female friends from my 'divorce support group' (hahahaha) brought me a new dildo for my collection. She writes a smut blog, and a sex toy company approached her for sponsorship and gave her a big ol' goody bag of toys to use or give away.

So I got a new toy.

A review of said toy coming soon.

And that got me wondering ....

What if I become affiliated with a sex toy store and start reviewing products? What a fun way to live out my days apart from Aashik! I'm so there.

Think of all the benefits!

I'm masturbating A LOT anyway, because -- well, because I like to -- but, also because of the distance and the whole not having sex for the last seven weeks and four days thing. So, having new ways to masturbate make it hot and interesting and not so routine. I mean there's only about three ways to play with yourself using your fingers. Ok, four. But you get my point.

And the videos I send to Zi must be getting a little bit same ol' same ol' -- so new toys bring new life to homemade private porn you send your boyfriend over Skype. :)

Win/Win!!!

I'm excited. I've already signed up for an affiliate program with a personally owned (by women) sex store in Seattle (they've got stores in New York, too), and I'm waiting to see if I can get approved. And I've sent them an email regarding being a sex toy reviewer for them. Sweet! I'll post my reviews here for you, so you can get quality information about the toys you want to buy!

If Aashik were here right now ...

... I would wake next to him and rub my body up against his. I would stretch and languidly stroke his arm and his hip with the back of my hand. I'd whisper, "Be right back," and I'd go to the bathroom and wash my hands and face and mouth. I'd get hot water for us to drink, take my meds and slip back in bed and meld my body to his.

I would take off my panties, if I had any on, and slip my hands into his boxers.
When he was fully awake, I would make him do things to me and I would reciprocate.

Then we would rest and murmur to each other in the morning light. Then shower together. We would take turns soaping each other and nurturing each other until the water ran cold.

Then Aashik would make us coffee and we'd dress and read our emails and enewspapers and blogs. Then we'd talk about the rest of the day and decide if it would be a Sunday of relaxation and taking care of each other, or if it would be one of cleaning and organizing. Or maybe there would be errands involved.

We'd make breakfast together and eat in silence. Often looking at each other and smiling -- thinking about our future, and then not, and ultimately just enjoying our presence here in the now. Loving each other and loving that we were together.

Our day would evolve as it needed to, and in the evening we would set the coffeepot to go off in the morning, straighten the apartment a bit, and get ready for bed. Settling into the evening would include snuggling on the couch and whispering in Urdu, another sexy romp in bed and then laying my head on his chest while he read to me until we got sleepy.

Kissing him goodnight, I would wrap my body around his and wish him "Happy Sunday and Sweet Dreams."

What a Day Off WIthout Zi Looks Like

Ok. I promise. After this post will be exciting and lovely posts. No more missing Aashik posts. Well. For a while anyway. :) Living apart just makes missing your guy part of the deal.


I thought I would type up my whole day today. That way you can see what I do with my time off. My children were with their dad and I had the day off from work, so here's what it looked like:

I woke too early. It's my day off and I was hoping for a good 8 to 10 hours but am only granted six. Upon waking I am greeted with a fearsome vision -- kind of a nightmare where I'm partially awake. I gain alertness as the vision increases in it's horror. And by the climax of it, I am fully awake -- though paralyzed from shock and sickness.

In my nightmare, our baby girl -- Zi's and mine -- our less than one day old baby girl dies in my arms before we even leave the hospital. She just stops breathing for no fathomable reason. I hit the call light to get a nurse and start to perform infant CPR. Zi isn't in the room. Maybe he's getting coffee? When the nurse whisks in, she takes over and even though more staff and doctors pour in, nothing is to be done. One nurse turns to me and shakes her head.

"No!"  I scream, as the room empties. Zi walks in then, terrified. Aghast. Heartbroken. I am crying, sobbing, hitting the bed. "No!"

Zi rushes to me to gather me in his arms. I hit at him and push him away. He is crying. When he releases me, I grab back at him, clawing at him, and he holds me and rocks me and cries with me.

In the quiet afterwards, we are sitting in my hospital bed.

"With hadn't even named her yet," Zi said in the now stark, cold, and empty room.

"Oh, but we had," I answer. My voice is dull. Wooden. But somehow hollow at the same time. "Remember? That day in the Eugene house, in bed?"

Zi closes his eyes and chokes on the sob that threatened to escape.

Isamar.


***

Awake in my bed I try to redirect the end of the nightmarish vision. With my right hand on my heart, my left on my solar plexus -- the chakra of personal power -- I perform Reiki on myself. I always have these violent visions when I'm feeling out of control in my life.

But I am in control right now, I promise myself. I can stand the time apart. It can be fulfilling. I know it can. And the rewards at the end are priceless. The rewards. My heart held in suspended love forever. Living and breathing my wholeness, sharing my forever with my Zi. My gorgeous, perfect-for-me Zi, who whispers, "I'm here with you," whenever I am sad or scared. My darling. My Zi. My lover. The Air I Breathe.

So, yes. I am in control.

With Reiki hands, I try to breathe again and I recreate a scene where our baby is in ICU instead, and we massage her little body through the holes in the incubator bassinet, and talk to her until she grows in health. She is alive.

I'm thrown off kilter for the next hour and a half while I write in my journal in bed and soothe myself with all my loving memories of Zi.

His brown hands, his muscular butt that I like to grab during sex, his heat, his passion, his voice, his love, his tenderness, his laugh -- the real one, not the chuckle. The way his foot jiggles, the way he says 'vitamin,' the way he dances (mmmm....), the ways he takes care of me, his dreams that he's careful to keep inside himself now, the black hat he wears, our showers together, that he shares everything he has with me -- his furniture, his advice, his milkshake, his money, his love. I feel safe with Zi.

I start to touch myself and imagine our current shared sexual fantasy. Then, still imagining, I slap his ass and call him a name, and say, "Don't ever leave me again."

I am stopped. Pulled back into reality, into my bedroom on Lawrence Street. Where did that come from? I am not violent at all.
I don't call names.
I don't hurt people, or shame them.

Huh.

I decide it wasn't me speaking some imbedded truth, but just grief from this morning's vision. Unfortunately, from past history, I know that sometimes a funk can follow me for days after a particularly bad vision. My only 'saving grace' is knowing that none of these 'visions' I've ever had (since they started when I was 13) has ever come true. They are not premonitions.

I sneeze twice, acknowledge my hunger, and decide -- upon getting out of bed at 7:30am -- that I refuse to let any funk attach itself to me. It was just a dream. Even though I was awake during most of it. It was just a dream. A nightmare.

I still struggle with shame from time to time regarding these 'visions.' Strictly because they happen while I'm awake, I feel like somehow I cause them. But that's not true. I know that because they only sneak upon me when I'm feeling overwhelmed and out of control, weak, and they always have to do with some violent horrible fear. It's always myself or someone I love getting hurt of dying.

I also know they aren't my fault -- that I don't cause them -- because they started happening when I was so young. 13. And, because I know my son is suffering from them now, too. Maybe from the divorce? Maybe from his anxiety-producing sensory processing disorder? And he's ten. He's not doing that to himself. He's not bringing it on himself. And I'm not bringing it on myself.

So. My day will now continue.
Food. Now.
Oh.
But I need to take my thyroid meds first. Then wait 30 minutes for better absorption of the meds.
I swallow my pill and look around my room at the little tokens of love Zi's given me. A heart shaped box. A gold fabric bag. His bed. :)

In the kitchen, I collect papers meant for the desk, decide against coffee this morning and opt for a Lotus Chai -- another gift from Zi.

It's 7:47a.m. I rinse out a tea mug from yesterday and put on water to boil. I gather the tea things. I'm standing in the kitchen with bare feet, panties and a black and white striped button-down shirt of Zi's I often wear to sleep in. While I wait, I empty the dishwasher. And then while I wait for the tea to cool, I take my supplements: multi-vitamin and calcium -- chewable, because if I don't, I throw up; vitamin D -- liquid -- because I do get tired of swallowing pills, after all. Vitamin C (one capsule), because I don't feel too out of balance in the health department (otherwise I'd be taking two); and Iron (two capsules) because I'm bleeding in my cycle right now, and I'm anemic according to my last blood test.

I push the chair in that my son left out yesterday, and put his cloth napkin in the dirty clothes. I take a sip of tea and settle into the couch with my journal, spying the jewelry I left out on the coffee table from last night, and the next book club book I'm bound to read. i have roughly three weeks to read it. I don't know how I'll manage it.

It's non-fiction -- which I actually really enjoy reading -- and is actually on a topic I find interesting ... but it seems the last few books I've read were non-fiction, and I've started a novel that is begging me back. So I have three weeks to battle off the desire to read "The Death of Vishnu", read "You Just Don't Understand: Men and Women in Conversation" instead, and also attend a writer's conference this weekend.

Another sip of tea and I turn on my computer to see if I've any new messages in the last seven hours.

I smile at my bra and kurta on the sofa, and the memory of Zi saying i was like a little child taking my clothes off whenever and whenever I wanted.

A text from Zi: Good morning, whachaupto.
My answer: Reading blogs about writing, getting excited about the conference, and drinking tea.

I don't tell him about the nightmare.

Spent an hour surfing the internet, made more tea, ate a banana, Zi called me on his lunch break, and we talked for about twenty minutes. Awww. <3


***

Ok. I totally raunched this day out. It's 1:42pm and I've spent all that time researching sex toys, sex fantasies, and watching homemade porn that Zi and I made together. It's so lovely. I love watching us together. Bliss.


But now it's definitely shower time!

***

I combine the shower time with making a video for Zi -- if you know what I mean; ate some yogurt; and then finally made it out the door for Castle shopping. :)

***

Had a successful trip to Castle. Saw some neat toys and bought some new lube to try out. Went to a different store and got a wireless router from Goodwill. We'll see what it does.

When I got home, Zi was waiting for me on Skype. <3 We chatted and shared links to dildos and amateur porn and laughed about "you Americans and your sweets" while he was eating a cupcake. :) After we hung up from our video chat session, my landlord came by to tell of parking lot resurfacing and fixed my wobbly doorknob. And then I watch a video of myself that I made for Zi (for educational purposes) on the subject of masturbation, and got hot and bother. So, I made another video showing him what I wanted to do when we next met. :) I sent it thru Skype and started watching a movie on Netflix, still on the living room floor in my bra and panties.

"Plan B" -- great Spanish movie.

After Zi watched the new video I sent him, we chatted through Skype for a bit, said good night, and then I finished off the movie.

I decided, at 9pm, that I hadn't eaten anything but fruit, yogurt and cinnamon rolls today, so I made myself a bowl of brown rice, black beans, salsa, and cheddar cheese. mmmm.... protein. Oh. Also Mango-Orange-Banana juice.

I paid bills. Ug. Back to nothing again, and it's only the 3rd of the month. Talk about living on the edge.

Tomorrow is Bhangra Dance, work, and a little girl's birthday potluck at a friend's house. I'll stay a little while, and then get home to pack for my long weekend trip. Wednesday night=conference prep.

Thursday morning=load van, last minute 'anythings', go pay my daughter's tuition, work, gas up van -- with the last of the money for awhile -- and head to Portland.

Return from conference and our regular scheduled programming on Sunday afternoon night -- with a teeny chance of that extending until Monday morning, depending on my visit with may uncle and cousin.

I'd like to bring my uncle a token gift for hosting me. I don't know anything about him.

What should I get him?

And now it is midnight. Time for me to close my eyes. I'll head off and brush my teeth, and I'm so tired right now that I don't have that empty-bed-sadness. Also. No funk. All Day. So, good for me!

I can do it! <3
I love my Zi!
He makes everything better.
Just his presence. Just him being alive.

Huh. :) Just for a moment there, I smelled him in the living room. Not his cologne scent, but him. 
Maybe he's dreaming of me right now.
At 3am.
In New Jersey.

Good night, All!