...think of me when you get a pedicure...

My Joe G. is leaving me tomorrow, to return to his snowboard peaks and clutch low-rent high-character apartment in Colorado.

No more lunch dates for sushi, no more green tea at my desk, no more curly blond hair to run my fingers through as I pass his station on my way to the board table. I am left with only letters-by-email to tide me over until December in Kenya.

My Joe G. is leaving me tomorrow, and I am not there to give him a last goodbye hug. We had "goodbye lunch" yesterday, but today was the last day, and I am sad to miss him. But I am at home, not at work, hunched over in pain, of the can-barely-stand type.

The point is - I am going to be bereft my Joe G. tomorrow. And I will miss him. And miss him. And miss him some more. And probably run away to Colorado on my way to see Jenni in Valporaisa (the fact that they are in totally different parts of the country means NOTHING - I have Will thus I have Way).