Fart it Out -- Puerto Escondido, Mexico

I'm starting this post from the square white room of my three dollars a day hostel in La Punta, Mexico (yup, still here). The only colors to be found are the flimsy blue drapes with sunshine flowers halfway keeping the world at bay and the pink and blue whimsy flowers decorating the dirty teacup resting on the bedside table to my left. 

One of my biggest regrets about a life of movement is the inability to create my own space. I would paint these walls a light green... hanging plants and wind chimes and candles and teacups cluttering up the place. Janet's paintings, my postcards, Troy's and Aimee's List of Rules. 

(List includes rules such as: #1 = Only French may be spoken in the kitchen, #3 = No unexplained smirks, #4 = Mornings are Aimee's sacred space and #8 = Aimee can make as many plans as she likes as long as a) they're cool and b) she tells Troy about them eventually)

I've spent the last few days pining for Boy, saying "I-hate-goodbye-so-see-you-later" to Vajra and Joy and hanging out with the Orange Cat. 

For those of you who haven't read each and every of my 400+ posts (you have a life, shame on you), Orange Cat (Andrej) is the good friend/my biggest fan from Slovenia whom I met last July.  He comes from a community of cuddly animals who live in the capital city of my favorite country ever. This is the world of Sabina (a Black Cat with White Paws), who is nearly as fond of calling people animals as I am of naming inanimate objects and very good indeed at creating her own worlds.  

We get along dangerously well. And  I stayed just long enough to become a part of their animal community and win the title of "Blue Cat". 

Yup. These are the people in my life. *Ahem* Win. 

Orange Cat just flew in to see Blue Cat.  

All the way from freaking Ljubljana. 

Whoa. Um... Whoa. 

Orange Cat's visit means the world. For multiple reasons. 

Razon numero uno: I like Orange Cat. Mucho. 

Razon numero dos: Seeing Orange Cat helps me remember that one place across the Atlantic where I fit best. Which isn't a bad thing to feel (I pine for Slovenia nearly as much as I pine for Boy. Which is quite a lot of pining). 

Razon numero tres: Orange Cat (Andrej) flew all the way from freaking Ljubljana to visit Blue Cat (Aimee). 

Just for me. 

Just for my friendship. 

To be completely honest (something I tend to of do a lot of here), one of the fears that kept me from committing to a romantic relationship for over two and a half years was that I had this deep, gnawing dread that men would lose interest in me in a person if I was no longer romantically available.  I'd lose my value to them and thus would no longer be desirable for any kind of human connection. 

And Girl's kind of a fan of human connection. 

This fear and dread has its roots in the fact that... err.... well, I've never had a lasting, purely platonic, meaningful relationship with a member of the opposite sex. And while I do take full responsibility for initiating a few of the transitions from friendship to romance, most of the transitions were entirely, ahem, uninitiated by me. 

Aw, crap. We're here again? WE WERE DOING SO WELL. Can't you just be my bro? We could be tlayuda buddies! Or something? Chocolate buddies? I like rollerblading. I've been known to sometimes kick around a soccer ball. Yes?

Orange Cat's visit just squashes, tramples, dances all over that fear. He is very much aware of Boy and has read (and Facebook liked) my barf inducing (in a good way) post about Boy's visit (thanks for the critique, Janet) and Orange Cat came to see Blue Cat (all the way from freaking Ljublijana) anyway. 

Because he values me (and because Mexico is warm) simply for me and is not spurred on by the idea of a romantic connection. 

"Men who only think about romance don't really care about what women have to say," Orange Cat mentioned as we walked along the sandy beach towards Kuhl Yogurt in Zicatela. 

Orange Cat's friendly hop across the pond on the heels of such a monumental decision has given me hope. 

Confidence. 

Ease. 

Friendship is valuable enough. I haven't eliminated the chance of connecting with all other men in a meaningful way because I now have Boy. And if I take a moment to stop panicking and actually think... this relationship could have a similar effect to the whole no vanity thing. When I stopped wearing makeup/caring about my appearance last March, the appearance oriented people stop being attracted into my life. And thus, my relationships were more honest, to the point and fulfilling. Now that I'm committed (shommitted...), perhaps people interested in basic, beautiful human interaction without romantic undertones will be attracted into my life. 

Like Orange Cat. 

Monday night was a tough one. 

It was nearly as full of conflicting emotions as the past four days had been full of, um... complete and total bliss. 

Orange Cat's arrival = resulted in overall happiness and hope for Girl

Boy's departure = resulted in another countdown (36 days!) and all the pining that accompanies countdowns

Vajra and Joy's impending departure from Casa Kei = So. Much. Sadness. 

A curt email from an old (but not so cold) lover asking me to please remove him from my contact list, that I'd fucked him over and to never contact him again. 

= 

numb. 

I blankly opened Skype. 

Deleted all names associated with the lover. 

I blankly returned to gmail.

Reread the message.  

And deleted all names associated with the lover. 

Do I respond? Do I tell him why our situation triggered all my fears and made me float away? Do I explain how Boy was able to catch me when I thought I was completely untouchable? Or do I just let it be and let it go? 

I sat back on the colorless bed of the colorless room (except the flimsy blue drapes with sunshine flowers halfway keeping the world at bay) and felt the numbness sink into my stomach. 

Where it proceeded to give me a bellyache. 

Fuck. 

I glanced at the time. 

6:30. I have a yoga class in half an hour. 

Fuck. 

I am so not in a position to teach right now. 

Oh well. The world won't wait. 

I slid my laptop into my red sack and chanced upon a five page love letter written in the scratchy, scrawling hand of Boy. 

Jesus. Is this really happening?

I sat in the colorless corner of the colorless room (except the flimsy blue drapes with sunshine flowers halfway keeping the world at bay) and read Boy's letter. 

The first part of the love letter was filled with the... err... beautiful things that I do for Boy. 

- You make me laugh. In my belly. Deeply and fully. All the time. 

- You have modeled for me and taught me a way of drawing beauty out of areas of life where most people would conclude only pain. 

- You have made me want to do things like hang upside down suspended on your bare feet. And other such things. That I never thought I would do. 

- You are, undoubtedly, going to render me homeless, sleeping in a cave, waving down a Hungarian truck driver to the next village. Something like that. 

The second part of the love letter was filled with all the beautiful things that Boy wants to do for me. 

- I want to be your "peanuts" on your most stressful days

- I want to be there for you. In everything. All the time. 

(Are you barfing yet, Janet?)

- I want to freaking be with you. In the same country. In the same city. For more than two days at a time. Can I? Please? 

- I want you, no matter where we are or what we're doing, to feel like your coffee mug is dirty. 

- I want you to be able to play, at all times, around me. 

I drew my knees into my chest and tried to cry. 

For the beauty. 

For the pain. 

For the loss. 

For the gain. 

But...

... nothing. 

Nothing came. 

I feel just about as colorless as this colorless room. There's just so much emotion churning inside me right now that I've gone... blank. 

That stupid, sing-along Barney song started playing in my head. 

"When you mix red and blue, you get purple. When you mix red and blue, you get purple. When you mix these two you'll see, a new color magically, when you mix red and blue, you get purple." 

When you mix anger/frustration/heartache/sadness/joy/pining/bliss/confusion you get BLANK. When you mix anger/frustration/heartache/sadness/joy/pining/bliss/confusion, you get BLANK. When you mix all these you'll see, a numb Aimee magically, when you mix anger/frustration/heartache/sadness/joy/pining/bliss/confusion, you get BLANK. 

White. 

With a stomachache. 

Aw, poop. 

The yoga class I taught that evening happened, but I wasn't really there. 

Teaching on auto-pilot. Mmmmhmmm... 

I met with Orange Cat for fish tacos after I'd finished leading a lovely lady from London through a vigorous Vinyasa flow. And I did my best to let go of Blank and make myself available to Orange Cat. Because I love my Slovenian friend. And because he did kind of fly all the way from freaking Ljubljana to see me. 

Tuesday was Vajra and Joy's last full day in La Punta, so we met for a tlayuda in the late afternoon. 

I need help drawing some color out of this blank. 

I told Vajra, Joy and Andrej about the message from the old, not so cold lover. Vajra leaned in close and caught my gaze in his intense, blue eyes.  

"Aimee, you showed him love. For the month you were there. And now he's just taking out his inner darkness on you. You need to fart it out. A big, stinky fart." 

Joy added the appropriate sound effects. 

Fart it out. Well, I do have a stomachache. Perhaps farting it out isn't far off. 

Joy and Vajra continued to play with sound effects and I continued to feel less and less blank and more and more supported and loved as we (loudly) deliberated upon the different varieties and qualities of flatulence over our tlayudas in the middle of Amoki's patio. 

I was fully present for my yoga class that evening. And for three, umm... not weak daiquiris at Casa Kei for Joy and Vajra's going-away shindig. I even managed to challenge Tomo to an arm balance competition and was too tipsy to care even remotely as to whether or not I won or lost (or remember, even). 

Sure sign of getting back to normal. 

Orange Cat has been treating Blue Cat to four days (thus far) of the three Goods. 

Good food = CHECK (um, we're in Mexico. Food will be good)

Good conversation = CHECK (kind of what he's here for...)

Good company = CHECK (Blue Cat, Orange Cat part two)

Days have been slow. 

We walk along the beach to Zicatela. 

Swim. 

Eat frozen yogurt. 

Walk back. 

We take the colectivo to Puerto Escondido. 

Mosey through the market -- 

sip some agua fresca --

-- pick out some papaya --

-- choose some cheese --

-- purchase some hot chocolate souvenirs for the rest of the cats in Ljubljana --

-- and stop at a restaurant where I lose all my hippie points.

Orange Cat

Somehow Slovenia manages to always steal my hippie points. Always. I mean, I'm in Mexico, for the love of guacamole -- and Slovenia is still stealing my hippie points.

Can't say I mind all that much, though.

Cheers, Cat. To another week and a half in Mexico spent enjoying the three Goods. Until I take Boy (Rule #8, Boy. Rule #8) to Slovenia to walk through the mountains in search of Slovenian cheese with my community of cats. 

Whirlwind of Fullness -- Puerto Escondido, Mexico

Boy came Thursday.

Boy left Monday.

In between?

Whirlwind of fullness. Of sunsets and sunrises. Of red wine, mojitos and passion fruit margaritas. Of jumping into waves like a little kid (Boy) and of immediately crumpling into a little cannon ball so that the waves pass over (guess who). Of cuddles in hammocks and kisses on beaches and hands reaching for hands and shoulders and back pockets (Boy needs to purchase more pants with back pockets into which Girl may put her hands. Hint to Boy).

Four days of Girl sharing her life with Boy. Four full days.

Tomo took over the am and pm yoga classes. Boy asked Girl to please not write her blog during his stay and Girl reluctantly agreed.

"Those four days are yours. Every moment."

I suppose the blog can wait. Even though the thought of four days without writing freaks me out a little. 

Hey. 

Girl. 

Your life has some new priorities these days. 

Hey. 

Boy. 

Boy kissed Girl goodbye last second before going through security in Puerto Escondido and both Boy and Girl knew they couldn't have possibly made more of their meager four days together.

A good feeling. 

Nary an ambitious, half-asleep yogi stumbled to the rooftop of Akumal for class on the Thursday morning of Boy's arrival, but as I was contemplatively leaving the hostel, a heavily (gloriously) bearded Nebraskan hippie who'd practiced with me the day before rushed up to give me a hug. I'd serendipitously managed to hook him up with a less well-bearded Canadian hippie who happened to be making the same journey to the same festival in Costa Rica and Nebraska wanted to make sure to thank me.

I don't know anything about making money or wearing comfortable pants, but I do seem to be quite good at making hobos. And now I'm branching out into the realm of making travel buddies. 

"What are you doing now?" asked my clear-eyed friend.

"Just gonna drop off my laptop in my room. Then I think I'll go to Amoki for some coffee. Around nine.  Wanna join?"

"Sure, see you at nine?"

"Eh, nine, nine-thirty."

Whoa. Bourget. Mexican points. You can't even commit to a specific time anymore. Whoa. 

Stephen and I spent the next hour lost in conversation over our respective mugs of Mexican cinnamon coffee. The connection was immediate, intense, clear.

Michael once said that life is much more beautiful when it just... happens. When you plan less and listen more. When you let go of your stranglehold on the wheel and just be open... available...curious...and see where you end up. 

So are these kinds of connections. 

*sip*

Breathe. 

*sip*

Open. 

*sip*

Available. 

*sip*

Curious. 

I can't believe my life puts these kinds of people in front of me. I keep chancing across complete strangers who settle into the "old friend" chamber of my heart in the time it takes to drink a cup of coffee. 

After the gloriously bearded Nebraskan hippie had been successfully and lovingly stored in the "old friend" chamber of my heart with a goodbye hug, I moseyed on up to Casa Kei to see if Joy and Vajra were around.

"No, they went out for lunch," Sam informed me.

"Aw, shoot. Okay. Um. I guess I'll just... umm... go to the airport."

At least it will be air-conditioned, so I might as well wait there. It'll be like the yogurt place but without the yogurt. It's 12:45 right now... Boy's plane lands at 15:55. If I give myself plenty of time to get lost, I'll be there around... umm... 14:00. So, that's only two hours to sit inside an air-conditioned airport and read a book/journal while I wait for Boy. 

Yes. 

Plan. 

Happening. 

However, when I give myself loads of time to get to a place, I never panic. When I never panic, I never get lost. So I somehow managed to get to the airport and find a seat with enough room to journal and jiggle-jiggle tip-tap-toe my feet in nervous excitement by 13:10.

So... I have... err... Just about three hours to wait for Boy. 

*sigh*

At least there's air-conditioning. 

Puerto Escondido's airport is tiny. It may very well be the smallest airport in the world and of all-time-ever. To put this into perspective, the waiting area has only ten seats.

I parked on one for three hours.

I stood up at 15:45 and began to pace nervously, peering through the doors. Wondering if perhaps there was another section of the smallest airport in the world and of all-time-ever that I could have somehow missed.

WHERE IS HE? My inner banana(s) fled for the hills as I took a blank picture with my camera (my iPhone doesn't work anymore) to get the time. 15:56. I'm in the wrong place and he must be dead. Why else wouldn't he be here yet? 

"Ya waitin' for aerobus?" the voice of a young man slouched over a beer drawled slowly.

"Err... I'm waiting for the flight from Mexico City that's supposed to land at 15:55 and hasn't landed yet."

"Yeah, that one's delayed an hour. My friend's on it too. Flyin' in from Quebec."

"Oh man, I bet he's tired. My boyfriend's coming from Colorado. Three out of four flights were delayed (upon hearing this news yesterday, I did responsible girlfriend things like panic, chug two mojitos and collapse snoring into a hammock. With cats) and he had to spend the night in the freezing airport of Mexico City. The only time he managed to fall asleep, a security guard came along to wake him up. Probably very rudely with sticks."

"Yeah, I just told my friend to get a hostel. There's one right next to the airport. Why didn't you tell your boyfriend to get a hostel?"

"Err... ummm... so, where are you from?"

I spent the next hour drinking a criminally marked up Mucho Mango Arizona tea whilst chatting with Nick (so many Nicks!), a Canadian whose father lives in Puerto Escondido and who just finished a short visit with his girlfriend and is now set up for nine days with his friend, Frank.

"Ya know, my dad lives in La Punta. I could just give you and your boyfriend a ride down if you like."

"That. Would be perfect. Thanks so much."

I love Nicks. All of them. Every Nick. Love. 

Boy arrived at nearly five o'clock.

I rushed over for hugs and kisses.

Boy collapsed onto Girl.

"You're here."

"Finally."

Boy tried to drag Girl into the baggage claim, but the security guards of the smallest airport in the world and of all-time-ever were neither amused nor sympathetic.

I had poked and pried Troy via Skype about why he needed to check a bag for a four day trip, but he evaded my question in such an unsubtle way --

"Troy. Why are you bringing a checked bag?"

"How was your day?"

"CHECKED BAG?"

"You teach a yoga class?"

-- that I knew something in the checked bag was for me. So even though I was less than thrilled to let go of my --

"Wow, ya know, your boyfriend looks exhausted. Really should have gotten him to book a hostel last night."

-- slightly tired boy so soon after getting him, my, err... investment in his checked luggage made it easier to let him walk away.

Troy had four flights and one of them was in Mexico. And three of them were delayed. I wonder if the bag actually made it through or if it just got so worn out that it decided to stay in Houston for the night. Oof. 

Checked bag did make it to Puerto Escondido and I exerted amazing self-control over my inner two-year-old by offering Boy some of my Mucho Mango Arizona tea and not immediately opening all the pockets of the little black bag swinging in Boy's right hand. Boy washed down the Mucho Mango Arizona tea with a swig of nearly boiling mezcal from Nick's glove compartment.

"Welcome to Mexico."

After settling into my small, three dollars a day and thirty seconds from the ocean room, I asked Boy to tell me what was in the bag.

My favorite tea. Two boxes.

My favorite chocolate (dark with ginger). Five bars (there's still one left).

A chunk of ginger cheese.

A package from my mom, my sister and my grandparents with a cute money belt (yes, they do exist.  I was as shocked as you are) and 160 dollars to go inside.

They just paid for my month by the ocean. 

Girl. 

Feels. 

LOVED. 

I was so busy examining my bountiful booty that we missed Troy's first sunset in La Punta. We did make it out for a quick dinner with Vajra and Joy, where we sat on swinging benches and drank passionfruit margaritas.

"Troy," I snuggled next to Boy on our bench swing (which was great for kicking up feet but less than great for snuggling). "This is our first date. You flew all the way to Mexico to take me on our first date."

"That," Boy kissed Girl, "was not cheap. But so worth it."

I'd decided that most of Boy's time in Mexico would be spent living Girl's life. So our first day, I made Boy an avocado mango salad with lime and coconut oil for breakfast. When I returned from the dismal communal kitchen, Boy presented me with a water bottle.

"What is it?" I sniffed the brown beverage and took a timid sip.

"Maybe it doesn't taste the same when it's cold," Boy mused.

"WAIT!" everything clicked and I kissed Boy with sugary, creamy coffee lips. "You brought me a Cuban Cremosa! You brought my favorite coffee from my favorite cafe in a water bottle all the way to freaking Mexico!"

There are reasons I love this guy. 

We watched the sunrise on the beach.

"Welcome to my life."

We shared a Hulk smoothie (avocado, banana and NUTELLA) and a cappuccino at Cafe Ole.

"Welcome to my life."

We walked along the beach to Zicatela and shared a frozen yogurt.

"Welcome to my life." 

Boy tells me that my life is kind of delicious. I don't argue. 

We continued to walk all the way to Puerto Escondido. I got us very lost and Boy got very sunburnt in the process.

"Err.... umm... welcome to my life?"

"Gee, thanks."

We watched the sun set over the Pacific, waves crashing and burbling, frothing up to reach for our toes, crabs popping in and out of their holes with ninja speed and Napoleon Dynamite awkwardness.

"Hey," I kissed Boy and held his scruffy face. "How's my life?"

"I mean, your life is not bad."

We shared a tlayuda for dinner that night. I used one napkin and Boy used three.

No Mexican points for Boy.

We went to Mazunte on Saturday. Ate a Mexican breakfast at a cafe overlooking the ocean. Walked over a hill to play in a beach. Napped in the shade between two rocks and played in the kiddie pool created when the tide came in to reclaim our shady napping spot.

Ate barbacoa tacos and waited forty minutes for a colectivo to take us back to the bus that would take us back to La Punta.

Even though I'm an adult now who pays three dollars a day in rent for her room by the beach, I booked the top room of Casa Kei for the second half of Boy's visit.

'Cos I wanted him to be on the list with Vajra, Joy, Sam and Tomomi.

And I wanted him to see the sunset over the ocean from his bed.

Whilst drinking a mojito. Made by Sam. Who has kind of become the mojito goddess in Pepe's absence. 

Sunday morning was lazy. I brewed a pot of coffee and carried two cups up three flights of stairs to my Boy. We tentatively, determinedly made our way into the hammock and watched the sun usher in the morning as the coffee ushered in our senses (mine, anyway).

Sunday afternoon was packed full of adventure. We'd booked the turtle releasing, bird watching, bonfire building, plankton swimming tour through Antonio, so we bought our sausages, donned our swimsuits, packed a towel and loaded into Antonio's car around 2:30.

Joy looks sneaky and concerned when she eats pistachios. Troy looks sneaky and INTENSE when he puts on sunscreen. 

As I mentioned in a previous post, only one out of a hundred hatchlings survive and come back to lay their own eggs on the beaches of Oaxaca. However, with the help of these tortuga loving humans, their odds of surviving the perils of egghood are increased to a whopping ten percent.

Nests are transplanted to this area of protected beach and fences are built around them to ward off hungry dogs.

When the eggs hatch, the baby turtles are placed into buckets and then released onto the wet sand close to where the waves can rumble-tumble-whisk them into their frothy, salty home.

The tortuga loving human creature plopped the baby turtles into decorative coconut shell bowls. Not just to advertise their coconut bowls, but also so that our sunscreen/lotion/insect repellent wouldn't interfere with the scent of the sand. Getting proper scent recognition is important for these little dudes because it leads them back to the same beach ten to fifteen years later and they do their own egg laying.

I don't think my baby turtles would appreciate spending their whole lives searching for a coastline full of lemongrass.

The tortuga man drew a line in the sand behind which we released our turtles.

"We can't just put them in the ocean because the run to the water helps them become strong enough to swim," Joy translated the tortuga man's Spanish for us not so polyglots.

I squatted next to Boy and dumped my little dude onto the beach.

"Go, go, go!"

I felt like I was at my childhood church's youth group, releasing tediously painted, carved pine race cars down a short track with parents cheering (or trying to look less bored) on the sidelines.

My pine race car never won. No matter how many bright colors/glitter/unicorn stickers I used.

Neither did my little tortuga.

He toppled flippers over shell into a footprint canyon and spent far too long upside down and trying to right himself.

Dear little dude, 

There are appropriate and inappropriate times to be upside down. Take it from a girl who knows. 

Love, 

a girl who knows

Some turtles made it to the ocean but were rumble-tumbled back up to the starting line. Where they righted themselves and ran helter-skelter back to the waves.

Instincts are strange things. Indefatigable and un-fucking-fazed. 

I wonder how many instincts continue to drive me.  

I wonder which are actually healthy. 

Nary a one of the four little dudes I released managed to make it to the water first (which Boy gloated about far too much for Girl's liking), but they all got there eventually.

And they were probably SUPER strong from all that toppling into footprints and rumble-tumbling back up the beach and helter-skeltering down. 

We walked back to Antonio's car and continued on to the lagoon, where we unpacked the car and loaded up the boat.

Guitars make everything better. Everything. Give me one example of something that would not be made better by the presence of a guitar, and I'll tell you you're wrong. With or without further explanation. 

This is where you take everything I just said about the guitar and apply it to Joy and Vajra. 

Girl and Boy on boat. 

Part two. 

Boy and Joy

This is Boy's face when he first hears about the plans Joy and I made about him without him. 

This is Boy's face when he finishes hearing about the plans Joy and I made about him without him. 

After an hour or so of bird watching and drifting through the magical lagoon, we beached the boat and lugged our guitars, sausages and mezcal across the sand.  

I kept snapping pictures, but Antonio hinted that my time would be better spent gathering wood for the bonfire.

Warning for future camping/bonfire buddies:

Girl doesn't gather wood.

Girl goes meandering through sand/forest/jungle, contemplating small sticks. She disregards said sticks for being too small for the first twenty minutes of her little jaunt. Then she figures she might as well pick up a stick or two in order to feel slightly less useless. After her hands are marginally less empty, she inevitably runs into a very large log (literally, more often than not). She then spends the next twenty minutes contemplating the log.

If I break it off here... perhaps if I drag it over there... should I just go get help? But is it really worth it? 

Meh. They probably have enough wood by now anyway. 

So Girl leaves the log and returns to the fire pit. On the way back, she critically analyzes the three to five twigs in her hands.

Meh. These wouldn't make any difference anyway. 

So she drops the twigs in the sand/forest/jungle and goes off to watch a sunset with Boy.

Boy is much better at gathering wood than Girl. Girl allows this. Whole-heartedly. 

We roasted sausages over the bonfire, listened to Vajra and Joy sing and strum the guitar, snuggled in the sand and felt the fullness of our idyllic days.

The water wasn't deep enough for swimming and the plankton weren't plentiful enough for make-believe sorcery, but the conditions were perfect for a glow-in-the-dark water fight with Boy.

I giggled like a five-year-old and splashed like a chicken.

We walked through the gate of Casa Kei late. After a mad hunt for a bottle opener, we uncorked our bottle of wine and swung gently in the hammock of the treehouse's top room.

"Welcome to my life."

Boy left Girl yesterday afternoon. There was a final sunrise, a final breakfast at Cafe Ole, a final swim and a final greasy tlayuda.

"Thirty-eight more days."

"It's not so long."

"You really make it hard to love you."

"Do I?"

"You're just never around for me to love you."

"You could be here. Share my life."

"Shommitments."

"Shommitments."

*sigh*

"Thirty-eight more days."

"It's not so long."