I want him to come home, now. I don't know when he'll be back.
I'm trying to apply for a loan for him online to get his license. These are ghetto-loans. Little ghetto mini-loans. They are kind of scary. Being a homeowner helps.
I miss him. I'm going to sleep tonight in a pile of his dirty laundry. There's certainly plenty of it lying around.
I'm going to go hang out with a friend and her sister tonight. The sister's husband is in Iraq, and their first wedding anniversary is this weekend. It will be interesting to be around someone whose husband is a pain in the ass for a different reason from being an addict. Maybe I can make her feel better.
I want my husband home. It's two weekends in a row of being apart, and it makes me melancholy. It makes me want to go stand next to a large body of water and sigh. I'm a tragic poetess like that. Distance from my husband's body makes me want to sigh, largely, and fling myself onto a divan.
I wish I could have gone with him. The last time we went to Florida together, there were alligators. We fed the alligators fried chicken. He was excited to show off his childhood home. He liked showing me alligators and talking about snakes and flowers and other such Floridian fecundity.
Hah. We fed the alligator fried chicken. There was also this turtle, and the turtle kept coming up and stealing the chicken.
We weren't supposed to feed the alligator. He likes to do things he isn't supposed to do. One time, we were in Beaufort on that island with the wild horses. He kept trying to feed the wild horses, too, but they would take his lettuce from his sandwiches. The male horse flared his nostrils at him and took a huge, aggressive dump. We had sex in the woods on that island. His knees got all dirty.
I think of these times. He wasn't doing heroin then. I wonder when it started, really, and when it got bad. I wonder when it became every day. I guess I know when it got bad, because I figured out what was going wrong soon after it got bad, but I wish I could know the whole story. I hate his secrets.
The dogs are being strange. All night, the little baby pit bull barked and barked every time she heard any kind of noise at all. I think she might have been protecting me, or maybe she was uneasy without her daddy.
I want her daddy.