Damnable Saturday

Whew! What a rotten day.

In the Dollar General buying cat food I heard Mariah Carey singing All I Want For Christmas Is You (don't laugh, the song is pretty much in 60s girl group mode - pity, given the woman's fine voice that the bulk of her recordings are unlistenable twaddle).

I dropped - splat! - straight into a depression. Foolishly I was missing Charles. Even worse I felt some of the erotic stirrings that his feminine movements and voice first stirred within me. It was a stark and arduous day at the shop: enough emotional tension to give me a headache. Hey there emotions, I thought we'd struck a deal. I grow up don't give me headaches. Ah well, those emotions, you know them. You relax for a moment and they are like an old cartoon housewife ready to bean you with a frying pan or rolling pin.

Hours later the foul mood has receded. I guess this recovery business takes time. Particularly since I can't really go out looking for a replacement for Charles. Too much, to use an uncomely word that Jimmy Carter once used in a press conference making it clear he'd never have a second term, retrofitting of myself needs to be done.

And so it goes: news from the frontline of my heart.