Today is my birthday. It was one of the best, but there was a faint shadow over my heart this day. We went out for breakfast, then home to read the New York Times. I opened a bag of gifts that were perfect and perfectly selected. Each with a note that accentuated the thoughtfulness. There were my favorite sweets, movie tickets, a book that was dead-on perfect for my recent thinking about culture and ideas, and a most amazing necklace. Not easy to pick a piece of jewelry for a woman who cares about clothes and accessories the way that I do—but he did it. There was also the gift of tickets to a play in New York in October.
The shadow began there. October. Chemo continues through November. Side effects are cumulative. Fatigue is cumulative. Immune system has to be protected. He is fine now, he is great now. The other gift of this morning was amazing “living room” sex. I think of it that way because it is the kind of sex we fall into sometimes unexpectedly. It is sex that begins in the living room-- and ends there hours later -- we never make it to the bedroom. It is hot and hard and satisfying and sometimes shocking. And today, July 27, it’s still on the menu. That’s a birthday gift for sure.
But it’s July and the play is in October. Will we be able to go to New York City in October? Will he still have that kind of energy in October? That kind of desire? Will we have sex in the living room? In the bedroom? In October?
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