Love sick

I’m addicted to love.

Here I sit in Nicaragua, my own casita, rain pours, tumbles down. The heavens are crying, or dancing… one can never be sure.

Its quiet here, so quiet, I pace and think of home…. Home where my heart is. Where my stuff is. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy, grateful to be here. But home is glorious.

I don’t really feel like I’ve started my travels yet, landed at my sister’s place in a strange paradise, on Higante Bay. Last night I got drunk on rum and sang my heart out at the local open mic at the backpackers downtown. I sung songs of you….

Here I was pretending to be a rock star from down under, hair done up like a cross between a poodle quiff and Amy Winehouse, wearing tight high waisted Dejour jeans in tropical thunderstorms and singing about… you. There I was with opportunities with the opposite sex (rowdy backpackers that they are, all looking for a good time) but all I could think of was…. you.

My past blog entries have been brave and bold, words… so many words…. But since then, I have consulted my tarot reader, via Facebook in Australia, my guru in Brazil, my mother in Queensland and my therapist in Los Angeles, and all roads point to you.

I’m addicted. Like a chain smoker, like a junkie, like a teenage girl on heat. Touched for the very first time….

I was trying to be all independent, brave, big, strong, bold intrepid solo woman warrior, but honey you only live once, and true love is rare in this day and age.

So …… I did the deed, I invited him over here, to come with me on a month-long pink Cadillac, moonshining, dancing under the redwoods to the mutha flippin USA.

It was a big move I know, but Ce la VIE! Such is love, such is life.

Since I popped the big question I’ve acquainted myself very well with Skype and have been chatting, coffee-fueled chatting, vodka lipped chatting every day, hours in fact…. Each morning I check to see what time it is in Australia waiting for him to awake.

We have Skype dates now, he took me to the ballet, the opera, the Tin Pot coffee shop in Fitzroy, on the trains, Flinders street station, through the streets I know so well…

We have Skype love, Skype talk. And I count the hours till I can hear his voice through the receiver.

It’s getting out of control. Here I am on my “trip” and all I want to do is be with my love in Melbourne. Here I am having spent all my savings and my grandma’s inheritance, and with my big dreams and bold independence, and…. pining….

Love Sick they call it. Love fucken sick.

But love aside, money is now the issue… money money money always seems to get in the way… He’s broke, I’m on a shoestring. I’m on the other side of the world. I told him to buy a lotto ticket…. Maybe just maybe he could win the lotto….And if the numbers don’t match then to rob the local bank ASAP….

I’m getting desperate and I hate being desperate… it’s almost painful to hear his voice now… Awakes this longing within me, makes me want him even more.…. Drives me into being a desperate needy lovesick little girl… (and that just ain’t my style)

My friend says, you should go cold turkey on him…. Turn of Skype for a while and be present. She could be right…. But how do you explain to a junkie why they should give up smack when it’s so good, feels so right….