Thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel
Well, it seems I definitely have the self-discipline of the average OxyContin addict. I had the phone in my hand and couldn't help myself. I called her, it was dinnertime, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised I got her machine. I can quote myself exactly:
Hi. I'm on a hillside with a beautiful view of the city. It's a different hillside and a different view but I thought of you and ... I wanted to hear your voice.
Which was all true -- just listening to her recorded message, my heart, penis, and tear-ducts all got very enthusiastic about doing their respective jobs -- but that doesn't mean I should have told her.
Re-reading my written resolution, I realize I am technically within the guidelines: it had been almost 26 hours since I had last communicated with her, more than a literal "day".
It's strange. I'm actually doing well in the cool thing with other women. I've just been checking out women I like, trying a much lower-temperature persona, and they seem to respond. With Catherine, though, I having a much greater difficulty keeping myself from boiling over.
Partly, it's because I know she responds to enthusiasm (she several times mentioned that specifically) and she's easily hurt by indifference (ditto), so however cool I may be, I need to not be cold.
Much more, it's just that I like her so damn much. She's got the kind of body that when I see, I'm dying to touch; her face is just cute as a button; I've decided she looks more like Janine Turner than Selma Blair, although there's a lot of Blair there too. Plus, she's really sweet.
OK, I don't know whether other people will find this as moving as I did, but when we were in the car, she told, "Put your hand on my twat." She was laughing when she said it, but she meant it, and not in a dirty way; she just wanted to be touched.
She's really all I could ask for, except just a little bit closer geographically. And even that's not true. If she were closer, I'd really be making a fool of myself over her.
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