In the Pink

I wonder sometimes if I'm not a wee bit schizo. In the philosophical rather than the clinical sense, you understand.

And then I remember that I'm having a hormonal surge for a reason or three, and the feat of schizo dissipates.

This morning, I miss the NEMRF more keenly than yesterday -- possibly because of a sort but indelibly sweet and adorable chat. Him in an internet cafe, looking out at a grey and drizzly street, and me, sweltering in the home office, trying to catch up on some work. It's like those cartoons, where someone flees so fast that they exit via a wall or some such similar structure, leaving behind them a hole in the exact shape of them -- be they Tasmanian Devil, or Sylvester as he chases Tweety.

If my life is a wall, it has a big NEMRF-shaped hole in it.

Le sigh.