Count Down...
My dog Cassidy has a preoccupation with tennis balls. It's a sickness really - she has something like 15 at any given time spread throughout the house and the yard and yet if there's one under the couch her mind is consumed with the goal of recovery. It's as if nomatter what- steaks, squirrels, burgulars, you name it - the majority of her mind is occupied with *tennis ball*.
I have never understood until now.
It is now officially June 7th, 12:14 am (9:14 am in Sweden) which means I have to wait only 5 more days until I get to see Martin. I relate everything to something about him, I am actually worried about what I'm wearing to the airport, when I look at the clock I automatically convert into Swedish time (which includes saying the time to myself in my head in Swedish) and if I sleep with his shirt (which still smells like him) for one more night it may be rightly considered "unhygenic".
Such is the extent of my sickness.
I have never understood until now.
It is now officially June 7th, 12:14 am (9:14 am in Sweden) which means I have to wait only 5 more days until I get to see Martin. I relate everything to something about him, I am actually worried about what I'm wearing to the airport, when I look at the clock I automatically convert into Swedish time (which includes saying the time to myself in my head in Swedish) and if I sleep with his shirt (which still smells like him) for one more night it may be rightly considered "unhygenic".
Such is the extent of my sickness.