Ian Anderson 5 p.m., Aug. 28
- Community Blog
- A Wallow on old wood
Today of all my days here was especially hard. I am very thankful for this opportunity to work here but I think my hotel room is bugged. I wind up taking a lot of showers when I call my dad so they can’t here me. Every time I had told him I needed new towels a bundle of them was left at my door. Two more months and I will be home to you. I would rather be in the shower with you like the last time we were together. I remember how you pushed me against the wall, the shower water gushing on my back, you asking me to tell you what I want. Now I ride my bike to work with a thousand others and all I want is to ride my bike with you. When I go eat outside the hotel the streets are so quiet I think the vendors sell the wild birds on kabobs. There are no wild birds that sing here, I will not eat the street food. The lab here is as clean as the med lab at home. There are two men I work with on the same project that are English speakers; one is from Germany the other from Sweden. I really think we are making progress but I am lonely. Sleeping alone is empty; eating alone has me picking my food in long daydreams. To fall asleep I place my fingers between my legs and hold onto visuals of you kissing my neck and feeling your weight on top of me. The research is worth the travel but being with out you feels like the disease.
Yours only, Me.
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