Anxious Boo: Life Without T, Part 3 – The Homecoming

One of my favorite moments in life is when, after a long-ass separation (real or imagined), you finally reunite with someone. There’s hugging, incomprehensible squealing about how long it’s been and don’t you dare leave again, and sometimes even a classic 1950s romantic movie scene in which there’s a running-jump into the other person’s arms because the sheer amount of emotion is just too much, you know? And in that moment, you’re reminded of why this person means so much to you to begin with, and you’re all, “Damn, you’re awesome!” and, “I’m so glad we’re best boos!” and, “Jayne, how’d you get to be such a gorgeous, bad-ass little weirdo?” It’s beautiful.

T was right when she said that Shakespeare was totes euphemizing it up when he said that “parting is such sweet sorrow” – but it’s also true that absence makes the heart grow fonder. And more sentimental. And so bromantic that it just gets straight up romantic, like this:

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And then suddenly this song starts to make all kinds of sense, man:

Thankfully, the shith did not hith the fan(eth) while T was away, but I am still looking forward to doing the following things upon her return this week:

Second breakfast/elevenses

To the layman, this is brunch. It is also a meal I have been avoiding during T’s absence because, as I proclaimed last week, I am a one-woman boo.

Catching up during Second breakfast/elevenses

Because T has missed such life-altering events as me getting sassy with dumb-ass customers who wonder why our staff reviews have to have such a high level of diction and why they can’t just say things like, “This book is good! You should read it!”, and because I have only gotten a brief glimpse of her trip via pictorial stalking on Facebook, and I’m a stickler for details.

Finalizing plans for our writing retreat

We leave next Friday and there is still a playlist to complete, books to buy, and recipes to rip out of magazines and lust after but probably never cook no matter how hard we swear we will.

Drinking a milkshake (or two, or ten)

My romantic declaration to give up my beverage of choice while T was away has been damn successful. But now I have a crazing the size of Quasimodo’s hunchback and it ain’t going nowhere any time soon, son.

But I’ve made it, guys!

Long live Jayne and Tatiana!

– Jayne

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