Solid Gone

I'm quoting Baloo the Bear: "I'm gone, man, solid gone!"

Because that's how I feel. I'm sorry if the last couple and next hundred posts are incredibly disgusting, gag me with a hundred spoons, diabetically sweet public displays of affection. I'm sorry if I'm completely selfish and forget to remember everyone else in my life. I'm sorry if I move far away. I'm sorry if I can't stop blushing, sighing, "awww"ing, fainting, jumping, falling, panting, masturbating, singing, twirling, leaping, flying. I'm tongue tied, nervous, achy, jittery, hot, dizzy, discombobulated, cold, shaky, dreamy, cozy, happy, dopey, grumpy, sneezy, sleepy, bashful and doc. Except not the last seven, those are dwarfs.

The fact that my inbox is empty makes me want to barf. He's in stupid Cyprus. Okay, it's not stupid, it's cool and he's probably buying cool paintings like he did last time and will stare at them and admire them with me.

Did I mention some of his qualities?

He's 6'5". That's right. Six foot five. Six feet and five inches. I'm five foot five! He's an entire foot taller than me!

He's going to be a football (as in soccer) coach.

He's HILARIOUS.

He gave me the biggest hug because I sang "ain't it a glorious day..."

He made me sing all of "Consider Yourself" at his favourite club.

He sings.

He's English. With an accent.

He has a pillow shaped like a boomerang.

He's intuitive.

He's going to be the father of my babies.

He hopes to hold my hand against a thousand backgrounds!?!?!?!?!?! I--...I don't know if he thinks he can say that to someone and have them be...not gone. still here.

I'm not still here.

I'm gone, man, solid gone.