E.S. stayed over last night, as he didn’t have to be at the hospital today until 1:30. However, as I have written only 2/3 of a show that has already started rehearsals and that opens in roughly a month, the instant I woke up (at the insane hour of 8:00) I leapt at the computer and started working.
E.S. lazed around in bed for a while as I paid no attention to him at all. Then he said, “okay, I’m gonna get going.”
Convinced that he was leaving because he was upset I’d been ignoring him, I burst into tears.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Akjkinejb sdkfjhm, fdohisd,” I snuffled moronically.
“I’m worried that you’re going to get sick of how much of a mess I am and not want to be with me anymore. Which of course is making me more of a mess.”
He started laughing, which made me cry harder.
“Look, honey,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
And so, astonishingly, I’m not.
Can you say perfect boyfriend?
Can you say mood disorder?
I knew you could.