As much as I miss him -- horribly -- I'm almost glad I haven't heard from him in two weeks. Hearing from him brings everything that happened into the forefront of my brain. I prefer it all to stay in a box, accumulating dust, until it perhaps dissinigrates.

Then again, that space he occupied is still there, waiting to be filled. And it aches.

But, really. When it comes to him, that ache of longing is preferable to the stinging, jabbing, sharp pain of remembering.

. . .

Working on an essay that's due Friday, which of course yields to britboy thoughts. Heh. I want to get the rough draft done today.

Then, tomorrow, I have a 2500 word paper to write for Friday, too.

So much for those straight A's.

God, what a waste I've become.

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