For a cynical atheist, I'm superstitious about a lot of stupid things. I kiss my hand and slap the ceiling through yellow lights, make wishes on eyelashes, avoid broken mirrors. And one of my biggest superstitions is the ultimate psychological legend: if you dream about something, it won't happen in real life.
Thus, after a convoluted yet telling dream on Friday night (induced by large quantities of vodka), I became convinced that Everything was Over, that I would never see him again. This gave way to a bad mood of even more epic proportions than the one detailed in my last post. I was tired, I was leaving on Wednesday, and I was upset. Not because I wanted it to end well, or didn't want it to end badly. No, no, no: I have no idea where it's going, or what will happen, or how the fuck anything can work without physical contact for three months. But - it's not over, and it could be. That's enough for now.
I'm leaving on Friday for South America. I'll have internet access, how sporadic I'm not sure. Email me, with your address if you want a postcard. I have a
parent-friendly travel blog for the occasion. I'll be back on the 28th.
Don't do anything I wouldn't do in my absence.