The girl was in Patrickapos;s car this morning, smiling her stupid little Barbie face off. About what, I donapos;t know, because Patrick wasnapos;t talking at the time and neither was she, but whatever. Either way, I had SUCH hope that he was actually alone for the night (Since he left his house alone at ~4:15 PM, and had a guy friend over the night before), but no, of course not. Barbie is needy, and doesnapos;t know how to sleep alone.
So, of course, now my mind is racing and my cough is as bad as ever, so I canapos;t get back to sleep. I was ALMOST there, though... I woke up from a horrible nightmare (Involving a cannibal father cutting off his sonapos;s feet and burning them, then refusing to eat them. Why? Because the son was a vegetarian and the father wanted to teach him a lesson.), and was able to comfort myself by imagining Patrick cuddling me. Thatapos;s a step up from three weeks ago.
A small step. Because even though I can imagine it again, I canapos;t imagine anywhere NEAR as well as I used to be able to. Iapos;m forgetting how he smiled when he was with me, his shampoo doesnapos;t immiediatly bring back scentmemories, and above all, Camaro Barbie is still there, still smiling. Smiling because she, not me, has the most important and wonderful man in the world in her nasty clawed talons.
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