You guys do know that this is all almost entirely stream of conscious, yes? With, like, absolutely no editing? Okay good. Also, what started as a rough draft for a blurb turned into a whole novel concept, about which I’m pretty excited. So this piece, in its raw form, is a follow up of sorts to Part 1 and Part 2. Half of a follow up, really.
It has been one hundred and twenty hours since I said goodbye to my lover. She left to complete the fieldwork component of her PhD in Evolution of Emotional Involvement During Emergency Scenarios. The travelers have sent her as an ER nurse during early 21st Century America. She is located somewhere in the upper northwest corner of old America. This is her sixth trip into the field, which means she still has four more to go before she’ll be home with me permanently.
I miss her fiercely. I miss her the way one misses the sound of the ocean after being pulled away from a lifetime of living next to it. No, it’s more than that–I miss her the way one misses the sound of ocean after having your hearing stripped away from you. With no noise to fill the void left by the absence of crashing waves, your mind seeks out that which it desires to hear the most.
I long for the noise of her, for the feel of her. She would tease me from my melancholy, I know it. She never understood why I forfeit my body while she’s gone; why I prefer the limited stimuli of machinery. With her absence, though, my mind lingers on her as the most missed stimuli. It may be borderline tortuous, yes, but it’s also sweet, because it lets me feel her.
Being directly connected to the net also allows me greater concentration on my studies. I’m still in the earlier levels of my collegiate studies, which means I’m not at the advanced level required for traveling. There is little that I enjoy more than planning the travels that will further expand my thesis in Music as Language Theory. I’ve teased Zwink about the ugly nature of studies countless times, and she’s excited to tag along on some of my travels.
My level of studies accurately implies I’m slightly younger than my darling Zwink. I was born on the second cycle of our generation, she the first. Even though I am not the youngest–I’m the middle, being born first in a twin set. My parents are sweetly sentimental, searching patiently and thoroughly for a couple disinterested in the reproduction cycles. They sought one entirely uninvolved int he process, instead of a pair who ended with one child. They felt it best to limit the amount of sibling connections, I suppose.