Sunday, January 16, 2011

There's no place like home ...

Wouldn't it be nice if we could click our heels together and just warp on home?  I'd have to click my chunky, neanderthal Sorel boots together.

Funny how people from this iceberg of a town will jump from their house to the car to the store to the car to the house in one fell swoop, in only a sweatshirt, jeans and a pair of runners.

Meanwhile, I have on 2 pairs of wooly socks, said Sorels, long johns under jeans (not a good look for this femme ... good lord! gimme back my sexy jeans booty), 2 waffle shirts, a sweater that makes me look pudgy, a long wool coat (oh, thank you My Person), my only scarf, a pair of girly gloves under my love's manly gloves and a wool hat that squishes my hair down, forcing me to try to fluff it up again once it's removed.

It seems that people will point and laugh, saying to themselves, "You're not from 'round here are ye".  But they smile while they look at me and politely say, "Well, aren't you looking all cozy!"

My sister will giggle and defend me, "She's from Vancouver, she's not used to this weather."  They smile and nod, getting the punchline.

When I'm at home I wear just a few layers less in the 'winter' that we experience.  It's really not a chill that we get and I see that now, having come to a place where you step out of the door, and pray you don't have to sniffle.  Your nostrils will freeze together in an instant.

Yes, when I'm home I'm a drama queen about the 'cold', even though we don't have a cutting chill like here.

On my mini-holiday, my bedtime is the best time of the day.  I get to speak to Papi.  Normally, my bedtime would be sweet texts to each other before my love gets down to the bulk of work at the graveyard shift and I will read a book with drooping eyelids to stop the day's thoughts from whirling in my head.

Here, our texts are million dollar tippity-taps, so we hop on to my Facebook 'trust page' and chat away for free. 

It's the best way to finally get my much needed love from mi esposo.  It's a strange feeling though.  When I go to that 'chat' it's like talking to my best friend, not the love that I'm so torn about.  I can speak about 'it' with a little more ease, even though we don't really have space for it while we're downloading our day. 

Regardless, I may have found a way to communicate a little easier.

Interesting though, that Facebook was a place I had to avoid so that I wouldn't jump into the pit of doom, until I had my 'trust page'.

I'm happy to have it.  On my public page I would never turn on my chat, because I'd be getting pop ups of that desperate 'talk to me!' sound from people I really don't know very well, and it seems they really have nothing to say.  They just want to make contact with someone.  That's bound to happen when you 600+ people in your 'friends' list.

On my 'trust page', there are a massive group of 15 people.  Every single one of them I want to hear from.  Every little pop up makes my heart gush with joy to have the contact I so need from the people I know love me and I can trust with 'it'.

Yet there's one pop up that means the world to me.  In just over 24 hours I get to have my sweet kisses from mi esposo.  I get to see that gorgeous face smile at me as I eagerly leave the corrider from the plane and wait for my luggage with Papi.  I'll get warm, strong cuddles.

Then we get to go to our skeleton of a home.

Our sewage flood destroyed home will look a little better to me than when I left.  Our barren castle will look full.  Our insanity of 6 animals will seem calm.

Click, click, click. 

Damn.  Didn't work.

I'll have to settle for the plane.

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