I string words like beads onto threads of ideas and tie them to the tip of my tongue. I want to pull them out one by one, drop them in your ear when your lips are pressed against the soft spot on my neck that makes me sigh,
but there is a moment between the rise and fall of our bodies when flesh becomes a boundary to be broken and desire ceases to be ethereal and words feel plastic and small and clumsy and break against my teeth.
Last night did not go the way I planned, and ended instead with me irritated at the raid and my husband irritated with me.
Instead of doing Spine and Madness and calling it there, we went to Firelands first to help a bunch of other people get staff steps completed. Ihate Firelands. I’ll be detailing that more in my blog later, but suffice to say it’s not a casual dislike. I hate it.
If right now Blizzard announced that somehow an Old God had dropped a nuke on that place, I would never attack another tentacle again.
My husband really wanted me to spend time with him last night, and I thought it wouldn’t be a problem since it was a short raid. Because we spent an extra hour in Firelands, he was upset, and I felt terrible for upsetting him.
I logged off the minute the raid was over and went to bed. I feel better this morning; still irked, but not murderous.