June 11, 2008
I�m sick, sick, sick.The boys at work blame it on my adventures of a rain-soaked weekend full of racing. I blame it on the entire parts department � each of whom have taken their turn at being infected with virulence these past few weeks. Billy started it and since I like him the least, I shall lay the brunt of this agony onto his vindictive shoulders. He�s truly a happier person because I am sick. He�s a dirty bastard.
I shouldn�t be writing at all right now, considering I can barely breathe let alone type, but I can�t help myself. I have to do something. Something other than filling my waste basket full of soggy Kleenex (seriously, I had to empty it twice today) and shooting myself up with nasal spray.
Besides, I�m stuck on this past weekend. That�s right, the Big Weekend. So here�s what my nearly overedosed NyQuil state has produced. I know it sucks and I know it barely touches on what I really want to say but you�ve gotta give a little reprieve to the Snot A Lot Gal.
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It wasn�t the best part�
When I strode down the stairs, daring my recumbent scooter into life and she replied with a hesitant whir. It was an ultimatum for the machine � if she did not start I simply would not go. She started. What choice did I have?
When, the day before my departure, you offered to go with me. I skipped through the morning at work with a grin on my face and a plan in my head. I clapped my hands together like an eight-year-old delighted with a day made just for me.
When, despite the fact that the Plymouth flat track had been canceled, you still showed up at my door. You had a hard day�s dirt clinging to your eyelashes and you washed it away in order to start all over with me.
When I ordered Mexican food in Spanish and made you wear it. Lo siento, by the way.
When you digressed and let it slide, the rain-soaked weekend with less than choice company. You wore the resolution with a smile and tucked away the colors of Team Anti-Social.
Finding the warmth of your body in the middle of the night.
In the entirely too early hours of the first morning, how you out-chattered the birds and filled me full of sunshine. The coffee that you made which provoked an �Ahhhhhhh� from your wakefulness. The perfect breakfast burrito, the adoring poke, the smile upon your face.
The kisses granted in the rain, the silly anecdotes after a few beers, the inhaling of race gas, riding together in the grass, holding onto you and trusting your �line� up the hill of rocks�
Although every part of you made every part of a meager weekend wonderful, it wasn�t the greatest feeling in the world.
The best part was right here. In the middle of the night. You next to me, me next to you. When your fingers mingled with mine, like they used to, and held on. That was, by far, the best part.
Thank you, Baby, for giving me that. The best part of you.