Women want similes... or at the very least, phone calls

When I got off work and had my doctor's appointment, I came home and laid in the sun on the deck for a while, listening to Billy Collins Live, which I got from the library. My favorite poems of his tend toward the humorous, as in "Forgetfulness," "The Lanyard," and probably the best, "Litany."

The difference between most long-distance relationships and what I have going right now with S is that most people can call up their beloved and say, "Hi," with at least some frequency. Or they can shoot off an e-mail and get a response in a day or so, or they can even pick up a pen and scribe out a letter, but I haven't heard from S—in any format—since Sunday afternoon. I can't address an envelope, "S.S., the Alaskan Wilderness, Alaska, U.S.A." and hope to receive a response.

Obviously, I am trying to keep my cool and have a sense of humor about this, because what else can I do? Listening to sad songs and crying and feeling lonely are the route direct to Depressionville, and boy do I ever not want to go there. My doctor's appointment was near S's neighborhood, and just driving down 9th Avenue was difficult, because the last 40 times that I've driven down that street, I've been on my way to see S or have been in a car with him.

I need to go do something distracting now.