It's all been an act, a tough-guy front I put on to hide the pain. While I can get on the Internet and hide my pain behind a mask of snarky or crude comments about Mike and his travels around the world ... everyone close to me knows the truth. When Tonya found me curled up in a ball under the computer desk gently sobbing Mike's name and told me that I've been mumbling about Mike in my sleep and screaming his name during sex I knew it was time to admit the truth... I miss Mike.
So ... until Mike comes home, I've resolved to only drink English beer, and to keep this torch, The Torch of Loneliness as I call it, lit day and night as a sort of Mike-Vigil.
(And if you look closely, you can see that my apparently innate proclivity to one day destroy myself by fire still lives on: As you can see, the bamboo part of the torch on the left side of the picture burnt pretty good, and when this photo was taken, the bamboo on the back was burning pretty nicely, too. Apparently citronella-soaked bamboo is a "wick.")
