I love making love to my husband in the afternoon. Weekend afternoons, when we're not worrying about getting enough sleep to be well-rested, when we're not worrying about being late for work, when we've got the whole afternoon and evening ahead of us to just languish in bed and enjoy ourselves...

It's never planned. We come home from church and don't feel like starting in on housework, so we start wrestling on the bed, and end up naked. We wake up late, spend most of the morning naked and reading in bed, and then indulge in a little carnal activity before heading to the shower. The warm sunlight shines through the curtains onto the bedcovers and inspires us to play in and about its rays. We kiss each other's skin as the sun kisses our backs; we laugh like children.

It's so hard to get back to business afterward. I had to force myself out of his arms to work on the towering mound of laundry that was encroaching upon the center of the bedroom floor. I had to fight terribly to resist the urge to lie with him for hours, tracing my fingers over his arms, telling silly jokes and kissing his brow. I arose and began sorting the dirty clothes. I sit here before the computer, waiting for the buzzer to alert me to the end of the cycle.

Before that...

Eric and I went to Best Buy and looked at digital cameras. I must confess; I rather railroaded him into going. He wanted to go home and do some internet research as to which cameras are good buys. I, on the other hand, wanted to buy today, and I knew that if I could just get him into the store, half the battle would be won. I begged and pleaded. He claimed that his choice of lunches (more later) dictated that he remain near a toilet, so I praised the virtues of the public restroom at Best Buy. We went to the store.

Not that we came home with a camera. His will power held out quite nicely against my techno-lust, and we left the counter empty-handed. We did purchase a gift for my parents, though. They've purchased a new Dell computer, so I bought them a copy of Mr. Modem's Internet Guide for Seniors. Heh.

Before that...

We went out to eat for lunch. Yesterday, after I discovered that the Odyssey of the Mind tournament to which I had wanted to go was apparently either being held elsewhere or at some other date, we traveled to a local open market for crafters and food vendors. Eric purchased a bunch of insane hot sauces from on of the stalls, and today he wanted to put them to use. He ordered chicken fingers with restaurant hot sauce and chili, then re-doused them with his own potions.

The waitress laughed; I cringed. I'm only a part-time chilihead, and this seemed a bit over the top for my tastes. Eric thoroughly enjoyed his meal, and then proclaimed, "I'm going to die." He made the first of many painful trips to the men's room, and I was grateful that I had brought a book with me.

I recalled the times in Morgantown when we took dried Thai peppers to the local mob-run pizza joint, and they spread them over our pizza before baking, causing the peppers to rehydrate and spread their oils over the surface of the pizza. By the end of our meals, we were usually seeing strange visions from the endorphin rushes. I can't do that anymore; my mouth just can't handle it. Apparently, Eric's bowels have lost their ability as well.

Before that...

We went to church. There was a guest minister; ours has gone off for a Floridian vacation before he has to come back and get all "Lent-y." We sang. We prayed. Eric nearly blew out his throat on his favorite hymn, "Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow." After choir, I ended up in a discussion with another choir member about American chocolates and how they compare to those in Europe - sadly, it seems. Someday, perhaps, I'll have the chance to see for myself, I hope.

Before that...

I woke up from a horrible dream. Mom was going on a mission in the Space Shuttle, and I was watching the sky from my grandmother's garden, waiting to see her fly overhead. Suddenly, all I saw was an explosion and many, many white clouds; someone patted me on the shoulder and informed me that the shuttle had exploded and Mom was dead.

I screamed and screamed and ran off into the garden, which was filled with tall corn rows. I was pursued, then, by the Children of the Corn, and I turned to face them; "You can't kill me," I shouted, "because my mother was just killed!" The apologized and left me to my grief.

I'm still worried about Mom's health. I need to see her and be with her. I want to hold her and take care of her and bring her food and water. She's worried about the radiation; her doctor told her to get bunches of sour candy to make her mouth salivate after the radiation, or else she could permanently lose her sense of taste. Can you imagine? I certainly can't.

Eric's calling me to dinner. The buzzer's calling me to change the laundry. My mind is calling me to get away from the computer for a bit. Bye.