Lost and missing

I am officially finished with Josh being gone.  This is a sure thing because I found myself writing an embarrassingly mushy love letter to him, complete with multiple lines of "I miss you I miss you I miss you" and "Come back come back come back because I miss you so come back..."

Talking to him every few days for only a little while, especially when he has so much going on and I have so much going on is simply Not Enough.  Next week can not come fast enough for me.  Staying at your rock's house is not the same as actually being with the person who feels like your rock. 

Last night Danielle was on the phone with the fire family whose house we're supposed to go to this Sunday, and she handed it to me to confirm timing.  When I took the phone I could hear the wife saying to someone "You know, the girls who lost their mom and brother..." and it took every ounce of self-control not to hang up on her.  We did not LOSE our mother and Topher. They died. They were killed, because a bunch of terrorists thought the way to make the US stop being so flamboyant was to kill my family.  Yeah, I think of you every time my bra strap shows when I'm wearing a spaghetti strap tank top, fuckers.  My skirt doesn't even reach my knees, let alone cover my ankles.  I hope you see pictures of people like me, who dress like me, and it Makes. You. Twitch. 

Saying my family is lost is like an insult to me.  Lost is what happens when you get turned around in a mall.  Lost is how it feels when you go to check out a college campus.  Like you think Topher will just look around, get his bearings and walk home.  They're not lost, they're dead. If you can't deal with that, don't have us over for dinner.  If the people whose house we're going to for dinner Sunday didn't have two cats that Danielle really likes, I probably would have said something.  It's been a long week, and I've run out of politeness.