It’s not like I don’t have anything to say. I have loads to say. I just don’t know how to say it. Or what to say exactly. It’s been sexually pretty silent. It’s harmonious, cuddling silence, though, not the like of fighting couples. There’s been lots of love and touching and gentleness, I’m telling you.
I can’t sleep. That’s why I’m here now. I’m anxious, every passing day a little more anxious. Waiting for the magic day I decided upon, when I had to rebuff Wonderboy’s advances earlier this week, because being close to him made me sick. No, I don’t mean it like that, I mean really nauseous. Every time he drew me closer, I had to repress a sudden wave of nausea. I then took a real sniff of him and realized it was his deodorant I couldn’t stand.
So, are you pregnant then? he asked. It’s not like I usually struggle vomit back, when he cuddles me.
I don’t know, I smiled.
Well, how do you feel? he asked.
I don’t know. I didn’t want to tell him. But I do know.
The sex didn’t happen though, and after that, I guess we both took things a little too carefully. I don’t even know what we’re afraid of.
Yeah, so after that… I’ve been studying myself. And then denying that I’m doing it. I don’t want to be doing it. I can’t change how things are, either way.
And now I’m here, awake. The magic day’s on sunday. Till then… It’s only been three days.