Thus began the longest seven weeks of my life.
Except that, Boy then convinced me to visit him for two weeks in Madison, Wisconsin before continuing on my planned American Adventure with Lala, so it ended up being only the longest five weeks. He was persuasive that way!
I was so energised by our mutual adoration; I simply demanded the extra two weeks leave and arranged all my other affairs to fit in. I felt unstoppably, undeniably sure of my course of action. I was in love and on my way to be with my love.
Oh, that long distance love. What torturous rapture, blissful agony. It felt like I had acquired an extra shadow. I went about my business, did my thing, worked and socialised and talked and laughed and ate and slept, but a small, itsy bitsy little part of me was always somewhere else. Wondering what he’s doing, where he’s going, when would I talk to him again?
And talk we did. Never mind a seven hour time difference and exorbitant communication costs in Africa, we spent at least an hour on the phone every day, and more often than not, twice a day. And then there was the five to ten daily text messages plus e-mails and facebooking that also went on. It was crazy baby.