Objets d'Amour

I like to have objects around me that remind me of Jeff

When I'm tearing through the house in the morning, getting ready for work, making lunches (for both of us), replaying and rehashing the argument from the night before, rehearsing stupidly the things I SHOULD have said, I get stopped by a rose standing in the center of the dining room table. He brought that rose home the night before Valentine's Day. It's from Rite Aid or somewhere. Not a big deal. But it was a surprise. And it was after I'd sent him out after his own cigarettes when I'd refused to get them for him. It is a lovely single red rose, which always looks dramatic and beautiful by itself. I was so delighted by it, and if I could I would keep it forever and never throw it away.

It reminds me of what's important. Not the stupid argument, which we were pretty much over by the time we went to bed — until I had my and-another-thing moment in the shower in the morning.

I certainly hope Jeff has a similar outlook about love-infused objects. After keeping him awake all last night by moving in my sleep, I feel terrible. And I'm kinda scared of what revenge lies in store for me. Maybe he'll look at a photographn on his desk and remember that he loved me ... once ... well, heck, Eric isn't all that bad, is he?