Breathe in, breathe out

Mini-me (so-named because I know that child is going to sneeze even before he does most days. Wonder how long the bliss of pre-empting his every attempt at fucktardery is going to last.....)
has been dispatched to some scary-sounding place called White Mountain (does that name conjure images of wolves, or is it just me?) for a WHOLE.THREE.DAYS.
Am beside self.
Damn school. No cellphones allowed (which is a little bone of contention in my house anyway, as his has been consigned to my bedside drawer, where it has languished for good on six months now, for infringements which I will not go into now....)

Rats. Feel like I am missing an arm. And it's only been six hours. I'm on a constant high alert when he goes on these things. Cell glued to my person. Praying it never rings, jumping at every unknown number. Terrified it will ring. It's like if he's too far away I can't control the universe. I like to think that his safety is directly proportionate to my proximity.
Can you say apron strings, kids?

Of course he will never know this. Am soooo good at doing the "Love you, mean it, last minute safety tip, big squeeze, now go have FUN!!!!" thing. He has no clue about the anxiety. I will not ruin it for him by betraying even a smidge of that shit. But I'm in knots, and I know I will only sleep properly (if you can call what I do on a normal night sleeping properly) when he gets off that deathtrap...er....bus. Come home, Boo. I breathe more shallowly when you aren't here.

Ooooh. Forgot to wish Mr. Freud happy birthday yesterday. After the severe dressing down I received a few weeks ago (regarding my state of general undress, harhar) I suppose I should acknowledge this special occasion. I conceded some of the points, I even unnerstan the logic behind those theories. But I'm still gonna do it my way, fellas. Thanks for the insights into the male psyche. But I am growing my own male right now, and he seems well-adjusted (or in my house maybe mal-adjusted would be funnerer and more appropriate) and seeing as I've lost the manual that he came with (oh Cath, hear my plaintive cries and sympathise!) I'm thoroughly ok about things as they are right now. He deserves a little more credit. He's always been the one to make his own milestones. The kid removed his own nappy and declared himself potty trained before he was 2, for chrissakes. He'll be fine.
Now let's get nekkid! (I can't help it. I love button-pushing. We all gotta have a hobby, man....)

Hairband crack. I'm a pusher. Mwhahaha. Lauren, just who is going to supply you with the perfect hairbands when you desert me for the United Kuntdom? Go to your room and think about what you've done.

Ooh, ooh....! Californication. Watch it. It's worth getting through the lordy-bits of the preachy programme prior. Thanks Mnet. Occasionally you make me feel like the exhorbitant fees you bleed me of every month are worth it. Let's hug it out. (Of course I am still but a second class citizen pleb for refusing to shell out for the big guns. Fuck you, DSTV. Fuck you and your drool inducing array of mindless mind candy that is the Series Channel. Damn I love me some trash TV. So ashamed.)

In other news: (Parentheses are clearly my best friends.) Ditto elipses....
(Use them abundantly, people, and experience their grammatically-garbling joy today...!)