“Damn. I think Im missing the Yankee game. Maybe it will go into extra innings. I love extra innings. And then we can watch it and order pizza. I like pizza. Or pancakes. I can make pancakes. Or ice cream. Id really love a banana split right now. Or more of this. This is good. This is very good. HOLY SHIT, I’M STILL HAVING SEX RIGHT NOW!!!! ” 

Hey, what can I say? I love my Yankees, and I don’t like missing games. And the food? Im Italian. I’m ALWAYS thinking about the next delicious thing I’m going to have to eat. I’m thinking about it right now, actually. What’s for dinner tonight?

“This is really pretty awesome, but I really hope that I’m relaxed enough and comfortable enough to be able to have an orga …………………. FUCK YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ” 

What can I say? The first orgasm in 5 years brought on by intercourse, is pretty powerful stuff. Potent. Followed by a shit-ton of pancakes. With bacon. And coffee. Mmmmm, bacon.

“I bet Don is happy for me. And proud of me.” 

Again, you’d have to be widowed to understand this one, because trust me, I know it sounds all kinds of weird. And it is. But that’s the thing. Nothing about being widowed ISN’T weird. Its ALL weird. But what I know is this; my husband who died, he will love me forever, and I will love him forever. And he would want me to experience more pancakes, and great orgasms, and really good coffee. He would want to see me fight for any sliver of joy I can locate, even if that joy happens to take place on top of a homemade quilt, filled with pictures of our life together. He would laugh his hearty laugh and say: “Good for you, Boo. Good for you.