My ladylove has committed herself.

After two weeks of struggling with money-woes and quotidian stress, she finally broke and checked into the loony bin - conveniently located a few blocks from where we dwell. When she'll return, who can tell?

Neither one of us has a pot to piss in, nor the requisite window from which to toss aforementioned piss, and this vexes her beyond what she will tolerate. As of late, her bipolar type 1 has accused me of being incompetent and useless, and frankly, her bipolar type 1 has been whacking the metaphorical nail right on it's cocksucking head. Goddamn that nail, and may it never find itself exposed to the open air again now that it's been driven into the metaphorical plank of wood.

So anyhow...I visited her last evening and we spent the visiting hour coloring in a coloring book. Well, truth be told, I colored in the book while she giggled as I turned an innocuous activity designed to soothe the burning nerves and brains of the mentally damaged and unstable into a mock-Satanic grimoire of immature humor. We also shared some candid laughs at the expense of her fellow inmates, and took an opportunity to paw at one another when no one was looking. Next thing we knew, the staff was informing me that Time Was Up, and we exchanged our sentiments of "We should have fucked before I went in here..." and "True, but it seemed inappropriate to mention that before you committed yourself."

Kissing; groping; farewells; "See you tomorrow."

So now I'm home, and I haven't slept for almost two days, and have spent an inordinate amount of time looking at her FB pictures and masturbating as if I were an adolescent.

The strange thing is that I find it totally normal visiting the woman I plan to marry in the booby-hatch while I go sleep at home and wander the city streets during daylight hours seeking some crummy occupation so I can loathe it with every fiber of my being.

This is the world I have known since I can remember, and dammit, I like it this way.

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