Dr. Who

27 04 2013

I’ve been watching Doctor Who for a little while now.  I started with the ninth doctor and am working my way through to current episodes, and I’ve been having a lot of fun. In general, I enjoy finding parallels and themes in the things I’m watching, even when they don’t always make total sense.  So I’ve come up with a few for the good Doctor. River Song and her whole situation could be a metaphor for coping with Alzheimers. It’s really very sad.  And the Silence… I’m thinking the struggle to shake off the fear generated by the Cold War. I’m having fun.


Just Wonderful

1 04 2013

There is something wonderful about waking next to him.  He’s the night owl (to use the hackneyed term) and so I am always awake first. He’s not always snuggled up to me, and not always adorable, but he is always wonderful.  I lie and bask in his presence, his warmth.  I get fuzzy when he cuddles me, although that is almost without fail moments after I have decided to get up and run to the bathroom, so I push the discomfort to the back of my mind and settle in for a few minutes (at least) of snuggle, teddy-bear time.  I study the lines in his face and the colors in his quickly growing beard.  His face is never smooth after a night in my bed, even if he shaved just before arriving the night before.  Hell, I take note of how much hair has grown on his shoulders since I last got a good look.  I watch the progress it makes down his back.  Yeah, I’m dating a hairy dude.  All the better for petting, and there is something delightful about chest hair tickling my nose.  The hallow of his shoulder is my pillow.  My boobs are his and he finds them in his sleep with an efficiency you would not believe. So I throw my arm around his shoulder and cradle him to me while he squeezes me close and murmurs nonsensicals.  Sometimes he speaks and I get to peak at his dreams.  Generally, they are naughty and I get a good laugh and an idea or two for some fun.  Sometimes I wake him up.  Many times I don’t.  I like to let him sleep, and soak in the warm, and feel loved and coveted when I get to be a teddy-bear.  I know this is a reflex, but I makes me feel good.  I feel set to burst when I get a good squeeze, when he won’t let me get up, when I am grabbed and positioned the minute I lay back down.  Just one day a week now, just one.  And I feel wonderful, and loved, and desired, and needed.  Because he spends his one day with me.