Baby, Please Don't Go (Down to New Orleans)

Mags and I went to see Webb Wilder at the Coffee Pot last night. For a while it like we were dating again, dancing to the music, holding each other close, and kissing at the drop of a hat: anybody’s hat. Then we got home and it was back to being the old married couple again. She was into the flannel “don’t touch me” nightgown so fast it made my head spin. I’m starting to develop a real resentment towards that nightgown. Sigh.

Now today, Mags has left on a five-day business trip. As I write this, she’s been gone for a grand total of eight hours, and I’m already missing her terribly. The house seems so empty without her here. I keep expecting to hear the garage door open, then I realize that it’s not going to. This is the closest I’ve been to being depressed since I started on the Celexa. Part of me wants to put the new Allanis Moirrisette CD on the stereo (So-Called Infatuation Junkie), but part of me realizes that it would be better to pop in Wish You Were Here and deal with the known factor of Shine On You Crazy Diamond.

I’m going to go try to sleep. I’ll write more later.