Just One More Sleep

My Love ~

About now you have been zonked on the white sofa, your 'other lover' as we joke, for at least two hours, maybe more.

Since speaking with you on the phone - as you drifted of to dreamland - I have packed up the dog, and the baby, and put the stroller in the trunk of the car after being in the park; driven across town to the NoHo district, circled [name of street] twice, parked on [name of street] for 10 minutes whilst Keller protested loudly, then driven to the alleyway where Aubrey and Israel raced down the staircase to earn the priviledge of being in the front seat.

Then, I drove home in twilight, only to have the children leap out of the car in an attempt to find their California friends before those citi-fied chil'ens had to tuck themselves into bed at the insistence of their mommas.

I have settled in to comforting Keller, changing his diaper, nursing him, playing with him, and coaxing him to speak to me in sign language or baby drivel. Then, I have checked my email, only to find that answers to my questions asked were only answered via a troubleshooting sheet, and not because someone took the time to read what I wrote in educated fashion. I've resent my request, in another format, hoping for a better response in the morning.

I've perused my online communities with a sense of disconnected boredom. Not because I don't enjoy them, or my friends there . . .but because my heart is aching from the knowledge that our time was too short and our obligations many. Tonight, not even a cyber conversation can put a bandaid on the hole in my heart that misses you. A telephone call to anyone other than you? Way too late, no thanks to this crazy west coast time zone.

Aubrey has come in the door and left again. Soon she and her brother will return, and for a moment, I'll be distracted by thier antics and or demands of teenaged dreamed up must-have-now necessities. The clamour won't last long, however, and I'll task them on the chores, and the preparation for another day.

Then, I'll end up phoning you.

Again.
Our nightly routine.

The night owl and the morning glory, paired for life.

What joy.

You'll awake, or attempt to awake in a slumbered stupor that will mark the transition point from the sofa to the bed. We'll exchange a couple of niceties that serve to fill me with auditory committment of your love for me, and then we'll hang up the phone.

The silence will once again envelope me, and I'll be alone again, remembering but a mere week ago, when our words to each other seemed so much sweeter and decadent:

Just one more sleep, and we'll be together.

Perhaps tomorrow I won't be so aware of the distance that spans us. Perhaps the traffic of tomorrow will wash away the sense of neediness on my part and lonliness on your part.

Perhaps tomorrow you'll phone me with a chirpie morning voice that is full of love but very tasked, and I'll get with the program; the plan; and shake off the emotion of parting in favor of the things to do.

Perhaps.

One thing is certain: I'm counting down the days until it is one more sleep again.

I love you.

Je t'aime.



Your Dove.

He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love. His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me. Song of Songs 2:4-6