An Open Letter (potentially TMI; some graphic content)
Dear Universe:
I can cope with my husband living in another country, and only getting to see him about once a week. I can cope with our other-third living halfway to the fucking north pole, and only getting to talk to him sporadically. I can cope with the ebb and flow of my delightful assortment of occasional tumbles, sometimes available and sometimes not (usually all at once).
What I can't handle is having moved into this gorram insatiable phase without anyone to very literally fuck it out of my system. I visited Kyle overnight last night and damn near killed him, the poor viking. He actually had to turn me down, he was so worn out. I am ON. All the time. I'm gonna start going after trees and lampposts soon.
What the hell-ass-balls, anyway? Where was this hiding when I had time and patience for it?
Love,
Me.
I can cope with my husband living in another country, and only getting to see him about once a week. I can cope with our other-third living halfway to the fucking north pole, and only getting to talk to him sporadically. I can cope with the ebb and flow of my delightful assortment of occasional tumbles, sometimes available and sometimes not (usually all at once).
What I can't handle is having moved into this gorram insatiable phase without anyone to very literally fuck it out of my system. I visited Kyle overnight last night and damn near killed him, the poor viking. He actually had to turn me down, he was so worn out. I am ON. All the time. I'm gonna start going after trees and lampposts soon.
What the hell-ass-balls, anyway? Where was this hiding when I had time and patience for it?
Love,
Me.