— I miss our weekend-long hideouts in your apartment where we would watch, oh, the entire British Office<\/i>, or Slings and Arrows<\/i>, or, hell, some Forensic Files you had saved, and we could stop and pause and talk about it. I miss you saying things like, “I just want to see some murder”, as you would scroll through the TV Guide.<\/p>\n
— I miss our talks about books.<\/p>\n
— I miss the support we give each other (although we can certainly support each other long-distance – it’s the PROXIMITY I miss). I miss the unspoken understanding.<\/p>\n
— I miss the breadth and depth and scope of our conversations, ranging from our various mental breakdowns, the men we were in love with, to articles in The New Yorker, to funny stories about our pets, to long conversations about movies\/art\/photography.<\/p>\n
— I miss how much we would HOWL with laughter together. Looking up pictures of Hitler in the dictionary and crying with laughter at how mad he looked? How on earth could that ever be explained? Never mind. It was awesome.<\/p>\n
— I miss the excursions we would take, and if you ever move back here, we are going to do more of them. Let’s go to MOMA. Let’s go to the Met. Let’s go walk in Central Park.<\/p>\n
— I miss the absolutely identical sense of humor that we apparently share. That is no small feat. I never had to explain to you why something was funny or awesome. I am thinking of me re-telling you my long story of getting my car out of hock. You just GOT the subtext.<\/p>\n
But what do I miss most?<\/p>\n
The regular occurrence of moments like the one we just shared on the phone:<\/p>\n
Me: Have you been watching Celebrity Rehab?
\nYou: Of course.
\nMe: You know who I love? And I can’t even believe I’m saying this.
\nYou: Who.
\nMe: Heidi Fleiss.
\nYou: I knew you would say that.
\nMe: I love her so much.
\nYou: I have goosebumps right now.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
— I miss our weekend-long hideouts in your apartment where we would watch, oh, the entire British Office, or Slings and Arrows, or, hell, some Forensic Files you had saved, and we could stop and pause and talk about it. … Continue reading