There’s not a lot to report on my goals these past few days. I have dived face first into getting rid of stuff in my cube at work, which is immensely satisfying and mindclearing, but it wasn’t on my goals. That’s okay, since it will help with goals in the future.
The packing has slowed slightly, because we have filled up the garage and our smallish storage space with boxes and things we want to sell or give away. We are borrowing a garage from a neighborhood friend which will be available this weekend, so we should gear up again for that.
I have two assignments and two quizzes left on my course, so I will be shut of that soon as well. Then I can turn my attention to my non-fiction project again, which will be good. My World War II story goes apace, so that in surprising succession, I have yet another offering for WIPpet Wednesday.
This is 12 sentences (5+2+5 for the month and the date), following a few sentences after my American has asked his English dance partner to take the air outside:
And we talked—my word, we talked for hours. We talked about music and books, life and dreams. Something about him made me feel so comfortable that I found myself telling him about my life, even my adoption, although my parents had been completely wonderful to me. Even though I noticed my friends calling out good-night, and asking if I was okay if they left, before I knew it the sky was streaked with the coming dawn. Johnny, Lieutenant John Malone, of the Eighth Air Force, that is (‘but my friends call me Johnny”) walked me to my car. I was hoping for a kiss, naughty me! And I got one—and what a kiss. Except for the hand cupping my face and those lips on mine, he was a perfect gentleman, barely pressing against me, but warmth poured through me as though we kissed passionately, and had before, had shared even more intimate moments. That feeling threw me so completely that when he broke off the kiss, I felt faint, and he wrapped his arms around me so that I wouldn’t fall. Me, sturdy me! I laughed off my embarrassment while he dug in his pockets for something to write my name and address on. He ripped the paper in half so I could take his name with me—not that I needed it. After repeated attempts to part from one another, and a promise to meet him again in two days, I drove off. He stood in the road looking after me, which made my heart beat a little faster, as did the fact that I was driving all over the road, watching him in the mirror.