Touch

LouJean put in a request for a more meaty post. I haven’t been thinking about much, so I haven’t been writing much. I think the thing is that I went on autopilot because I’ve been facing some pretty hefty challenges at work. That, along with trying to keep the balls in the air at home, has turned me into Single-Minded Worker Bee Aerenchyma. Weird thing is, that place, the one where I am by myself making things happen is pretty comfortable to me. It is for my friend SK too. So we run the risk of becoming a “Getting Things Done” machine and forget about being us, together, holding hands.

And that brings me to the thing I’ve really been thinking about. There is a big difference, I’ve discovered, between touching and being touched. I know it’s obvious to everyone but me, but the thing is, I have been spending the last 10 months hugging, kissing, stroking the cheek and tickling the feet of my friend Bubber Boo. After the first two months, I enjoyed it too! (If you’d like to hear about my post partum weirdness, I’ll be happy to share). But that’s not the same as being kissed, hugged, stroked and tickled. And that’s the crux of it. Make sure you get touched. A little hand holding, a hug, maybe a goose and a little snuggle. Request it if you must. Maybe ask if you can get a long kiss a week from tomorrow so that when it comes, you’ll think it’s spontaneous—-you long-time partnered people know what I’m talking about. Just make it happen because your bones and joints and skin need it and your mind, well, it needs it too.