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where my mascara had run
under the blindfold last night. After a quick pee and a wash, I dashed
back to a warm bed just in time for him to come into my room with
coffee and hot english muffins. He was fully dressed already, and
after a quick kiss and a few instructions, he was on his way to work.
The instructions were to start writing this. After a good lie-in,
I got up and poked around the house. His bedroom was locked, but the
rest of the house was open to me. It wasn't until I noticed that my
suitcases were gone (cute trick) that I realized I hadn't considered
leaving him--even during the worst part of last night. He didn't need
to take my clothes to keep me here, but still, it gives me a kind of
warm feeling that he did. He should know better, after last night.
I'll stay.
Well, that's enough for now. I have to get ready for him and I'm
tired of typing anyway. Wordstar says I did 27 pages. Stream of
consciousness writing and Mrs. Cooke's typing class, I guess. He'll be
home in another hour, and
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