No phonecall from I-t-B, no vile email from the She-Ex (thankfully the BG is doing well in school, bless her little heart!), no demands for work from school, and the end of the month will still some money in the bank. Admittedly, not a lot, but some.
Next month will be the real test of whether this is a one wage house. And if it isn't, I will make it so, because I am not uprooting my son in the midst of his bereavement. Not at all.
School was ok. I taught Spanish (Still very ridiculous!) but I did it.
"Hola" I said. "Hola!" the massed crowd of faces replied.
But now it's bedtime.
I am a sleepy bear, missing her man. I want to feel his hands just sliding over me as he passes to go to the kitchen, his kisses as he takes my hand to take me up to bed. I want to feel the touch of his gaze as we get ready for bed, because his eyes were so intense, I could feel them drift over my body as he watched me. I want to feel the warmth of him in our bed, and the urgency in his touch, and the joy in his body as I respond to that urgency with my own. I want it, I need it. I need him, all of him, blessed as he was, I need him.
And then I want to feel his kisses on the back of my neck as we start to doze off, an hour or more later. I want to feel his hand in my hand, his leg draped over mine, and hear him tell me "Good night my darling."
I don't want a lot, do I.
And I'll never have it again.