WWPD?
I'm just finishing get packed for this weekend in Cleveland, and I thought to myself, why not take a moment and write about all the things that have been shifting shapelessly in my head as I fold socks and higher-than-my-usual cut pants. I generally agreed with myself that it was a stunning idea, and one tall vanilla latte later, here I sit.
Point/item/thingie A is that I'm really rather upset that Cole and I will be apart for Valentine's Day. It's got such a special significance to us, and now I'm going to miss it. Sometimes I really hate this job. No, I'm sorry I said that; it's not true. It's a very Buddhist job when you get right down to it, being an advice columnist. It's therapy on a global level. And Buddha...was all about the globe. Wait, that sounded better when I was folding my underwear.
I guess what I was thinking was that this night with Cole is the sacrifice I have to make in order to be the of most help to the world. I feel like I'm still in karmic detention after that whole issue with my...being a French ho. I'm just glad that it was Janet Jackson on TV and not me man, because really? I've worn worse. Any of my sisters will gladly attest to that, I promise you.
Anyway, back to the main point hidden amongst all of this post caffeine type-y goodness is that I feel like the sacrifices I make are ultimately worth it when I know that I'm helping people. I suppose I'm very much like Jesus in that. Wait, that would make me a Buddhist French hooking Jesus, and I honestly don't remember Jesus being those things. Besides, I'm pretty sure that Jesus never gave up Valentine's sex with his husband. And if he did, then this gay marriage debate will be over much sooner than anyone ever thought.
So, I should get back to packing. This is one of the saddest trips from home I've had to take in a good long while. I'll have to really, really make it up to Cole when we do dinner on Monday, per his suggestion. I just don't want my family to think that I'm ignoring them with all this jobbiness. With it being Valentine's, I feel the most guilt about leaving Cole, but come St. Patrick's Day, I'm going to want to be around with my carrot juice while everyone's getting hammered, even though we're not really all that Irish. No matter how many people that damn leprechaun told he was my cousin.
~*~Firewall to all but me and Chris~*~
If you've been trying to reach me these past few days about what I know, then, yeah, I've been a little elusive. I can't believe it. It's just so much to take in, and I'm left with so many questions. When I get back Sunday, we need to talk, okay? If my vision is really as it is, then we've got a long road ahead of us. This nervous feeling in my stomach tells me that I didn't see incorrectly, either. You're...you're Piper's son. Leo's boy. My...my nephew. Your blood is partially my blood. Halliwell spirit. I don't know what to think. I really don't. Chris...take care this weekend. I'll talk to you, soon.
~*~End Firewall unless you don't feel like reading the rest of this post~*~
F'ing shalaley sticks. I'm going to go and finish up my packing.
Point/item/thingie A is that I'm really rather upset that Cole and I will be apart for Valentine's Day. It's got such a special significance to us, and now I'm going to miss it. Sometimes I really hate this job. No, I'm sorry I said that; it's not true. It's a very Buddhist job when you get right down to it, being an advice columnist. It's therapy on a global level. And Buddha...was all about the globe. Wait, that sounded better when I was folding my underwear.
I guess what I was thinking was that this night with Cole is the sacrifice I have to make in order to be the of most help to the world. I feel like I'm still in karmic detention after that whole issue with my...being a French ho. I'm just glad that it was Janet Jackson on TV and not me man, because really? I've worn worse. Any of my sisters will gladly attest to that, I promise you.
Anyway, back to the main point hidden amongst all of this post caffeine type-y goodness is that I feel like the sacrifices I make are ultimately worth it when I know that I'm helping people. I suppose I'm very much like Jesus in that. Wait, that would make me a Buddhist French hooking Jesus, and I honestly don't remember Jesus being those things. Besides, I'm pretty sure that Jesus never gave up Valentine's sex with his husband. And if he did, then this gay marriage debate will be over much sooner than anyone ever thought.
So, I should get back to packing. This is one of the saddest trips from home I've had to take in a good long while. I'll have to really, really make it up to Cole when we do dinner on Monday, per his suggestion. I just don't want my family to think that I'm ignoring them with all this jobbiness. With it being Valentine's, I feel the most guilt about leaving Cole, but come St. Patrick's Day, I'm going to want to be around with my carrot juice while everyone's getting hammered, even though we're not really all that Irish. No matter how many people that damn leprechaun told he was my cousin.
~*~Firewall to all but me and Chris~*~
If you've been trying to reach me these past few days about what I know, then, yeah, I've been a little elusive. I can't believe it. It's just so much to take in, and I'm left with so many questions. When I get back Sunday, we need to talk, okay? If my vision is really as it is, then we've got a long road ahead of us. This nervous feeling in my stomach tells me that I didn't see incorrectly, either. You're...you're Piper's son. Leo's boy. My...my nephew. Your blood is partially my blood. Halliwell spirit. I don't know what to think. I really don't. Chris...take care this weekend. I'll talk to you, soon.
~*~End Firewall unless you don't feel like reading the rest of this post~*~
F'ing shalaley sticks. I'm going to go and finish up my packing.