Gung Hey Fat Choi

It's been so long since I 'heard' from you that you've probably forgotten all about me. Or you're avoiding me. Any way you slice it, I'm not someone you want to be connected with right now. And I'm having a hard time staying focussed. On my crush on you, that is.

It's straying around the board; not necessarily a bad thing, really.

First of all, I didn't necessarily decide to blog just to lay, painfully bare, my more naughty, unspeakable thoughts. Not that I haven't expressed many of the ideas in this journal, in some way or another, to other people. I think it might have more impact in this context, rather than as a casual observation 'blurted out' for humourous effect.

But also, aside from you, tall dark and handsome, my mind is a bit of a cesspool these days. It's encouraged by the wonderfully horny husband. A whole weekend of sex (well, once the kiddies went to grandparents for a sleepover). Really the most fun two people can have.

Two.

Now that's the next level of naughty, I figure. And the most delicate of situations to find ones self in...as we commented to each other while taking a bit of a time out: how do you get to that?

But somehow: even now...I want to go there, and can't. Someday.

I guess I thought somehow I was going to be more loquacious (sp?) once the whole 'maybe I'll send him the link' had been toyed with. Rather, I'be been very busy with pesky matters like work, or family. Funny how that's become more of an issue.
I have an auntie that's turning 100 in two days. It seems kind of funny, that it should be such a centreing force for family time and values. Meh. It's been the workload and the project of scanning all these really old photos into a file and saving the file to the digital picture frame and getting the kids to the snowboarding lessons and after school programs; and the freezing cold...
Truth is, I miss you. And I guess I just have to get used to it since although you're on vacation --from work, anyway--until Monday, I feel somehow that it won't matter. Sigh. And when I finally had an interesting enough article to email to you I got the out of office. I'm not sure what to expect now. Oh well.
Of course, this hasn't particularly stopped the fantsizing. It's just much more annoying that I'm having harder and harder a time trying to picture you in my wild imaginings. That's ok; I'm looking forward to a bit of a romp tonight and rotating you into my mental mind's eye now and again will be fun. Imagining that if I can picture things clearly enough I can make you squirm in some psychic-link kindofaway.
You know, if I didn't have the funniest sensations of being with you--Being with you, suddenly, out of nowhere, I wouldn't have such a sneaking suspicion that we really do have something like that between us.
Talk about Stalker. Actually: I'm not. I don't want to be and I'm not. Well, maybe a bit - but since it's only overt manifestation is this 'blog'like journaling and some probably inadvisable emails...
I actually like the 'pictures' of you that don't actually exist: like the one of you in army fatigues, squinting into the desert sun. Perhaps you're just hiking in the African savanna...no, I think you need some binoculars and a LandRover Defender under your lovely ass. Could still be in Africa, though.
Hmmm.