I’ve been avoiding writing.
The past 2 weeks (3?) have been hectic, naturally, and I’ve been completely beat. When I have had time to post, I haven’t had the energy, and vice versa. I’d like to think I’m still adjusting to full-time college/almost full-time work/ HARD CORE MISSING MY MAN, and that things will smooth out to an even, albeit nutso, routine. It better, or this college campus is going to have one hateful woman running around, screaming at the other girls in the dorm. STOP SLAMMING YOUR DOOR, WHY CAN’T YOU JUST CLOSE IT LIKE THE REST OF US. (Thank you, Dooce, using all caps does make everything better.)
So last night, I was forcing myself to stay up later and work on some homework that I’d already put off doing all weekend and finally decided that 12 hours before it was due that I should start doing it. Smart, right? Say it with me people: magna cum laude.
I realized that I hadn’t heard from Dane, as we always talk when he gets through with work. Being so far apart, we know each others’ schedules thoroughly and take every possible opportunity to take Verizon up on its free Mobile2Mobile feature. I texted him and didn’t receive a reply.
Let me make it clear that I am NOT that type of girlfriend. He does his thing and I do mine, but we also have a routine, and breaking from that routine is odd and something to be noticed. I never want to be a leech, but YOU BETTER CALL ME BACK.
An hour later and I still hadn’t heard from him. This is where all the images from every Law and Order, E.R., NYPD Blue, and Magnum P.I. (What?? Have you seen his legs?) start running through my mind and How would the police contact me if something happened? If his phone was crushed, what would they do? His mother’s out of the country with his sister, his other sister lives out of state, and I’m not legally connected to him (YET) so I’m not going to show up on any search they do on their little computer-thingies. HOW WILL I KNOW HE’S IN EMERGENCY BRAIN SURGERY TO STOP THE HEMORRHAGING IF I DON’T TAPE MY CELL NUMBER TO THE BACK OF HIS DRIVERS LICENSE??? I’m clearly imagining the angle of his leg as it’s broken, crushed from the frame of the car that’s been hit from the crazy drunk driver that ran the red light. This train of thought is not helping my heart rate or my ability to sleep, because 1:30am rolled around and I’m laying in bed breaking into a cold sweat trying not to hyperventilate. I need this man in my life.
Fast forward a whole 30 minutes and I’m roused from my sleep from some jingly noise that I finally recognize as Dane’s specific text message sound. The first thought that runs through my head? Why didn’t the state trooper just call? I can’t text this early in the morning. Of course, it was Dane letting me know that he’s sorry, but he just left work after a 19 hour day. He was on call after his shift ended at the hospital and he needed to stay and work. And guess who figures she was told about said call shift but totally forgot and worked herself into a panic when her boyfriend didn’t call her?? Hmm? Any takers?
Fortunately, Dane flies up here on Friday and I plan to slather him in hugs and kisses as if he were long-lost and then found with a bag of gold in his hand and birthday cake on his forehead. (I want the good icing too. None of that “Bettercream” crap.)