Laps

Thursday begins my weekend. No more classes until Monday. It marks another week of school I got through; another miracle that I'm still standing, even if just barely. And now Friday, Saturday, and Sunday are stretching out in front of me like I-40 does when you get to Texas. Flat. Desolate. Lonely. Yes, I have no life. It seems like every week is really just another lap around the track. I'm running as hard as I can, trying to keep up, and I never get anywhere; the scenery never changes. Only the number. These laps are keeping me up, but keeping me in, too.

The only person I ever want to spend time with is going away, and I will miss him terribly. I wish I could hang with him and his peeps. It seems so stupid, so desparate. I don't even need to talk to him; I just want to be around him. Somehow he adds something to the color of my life that no one else does. He changes the atmosphere. He gives my life the mise-en-scene that is exactly what I want. It's a comforting, floating, lulling sensation that lies somewhere between sleep and consciousness. It's that high of not caring where you are or what you do, because you will be safe and secure for the whole ride. Even when it's bumpy, he makes sure to soften the blows whenever possible. Not that I haven't gotten some whoppers.

Sometimes it's hard to breathe and I want to lay down on the side of the road and give up. And I think he'll just get tired of taking care of me and leave me like a lost kitten, but he doesn't. He picks me up and smooths down my fur and scratches me under my chin so I want to just curl up in his lap and purr all night. He has a nice lap. Sometimes I think it's the only thing keeping me up.