What I Miss

Being someone who loves her rut, there are many things that I thought I would miss this year. The wooden pen that I have used to write in my journal every night since 1990; the ugly grey plastic mug I've had at work since 1993; the bookmark that a student gave to me in 1998. I quickly found that I didn't need these things at all, and that life goes on quite happily without them. I don't mind wearing the same three outfits day after day after day. There aren't even any foods that I miss particularly. (Although the smell of bacon did draw me right into a restaurant the other day.)

However, there are odd things that I do miss. I miss normalcy. I miss my morning routine (begrudgingly get out of bed, go to the bathroom, brush teeth, get dressed, brush hair, go downstairs and scowl at whoever happens to cross my path). I miss my laundry detergent (unscented, leaves no grainy bits on my clothes). I miss my bureau (having clothes actually spread out).

And I miss being touched. Not sensual touch (although I wouldn't say no to that), for it has been ages since I've had a significant other (or semi-significant, or even possibly significant), but the normal everyday touch that happens between friends which says "I know you and I care about you." Any of you who have known me longer than a week have (I guarantee) been touched by me at some point, for I am just a touchy-feely kind of gal. (Any of you who are former students of mine have given me 160 hugs, give or take a few for sick days and snow days.)

I didn't realize I missed being touched-- I wasn't even conscious that it wasn't happening-- until a few days ago on the Track when the professor from my college and his wife each touched my arm on their way to bed. It was so comforting. I've had plenty of handshakes hello and even hugs goodbye, but it is the less-formal human contact that I miss.

That, and a bacon double steakburger with cheese and a junior chocolate shake from Steak 'n Shake.