Love in the Time of Mailroom Hell
Saturday, December 27th, 2003
Love in the Time of Mailroom Hell
A Dom Entry
Christmas Eve is now my very favorite holiday. Above any other day.
Billy... I love Billy. I love him.
Needless to say, he accepted me as MS. And I spent the night in his bed. With him. And the whole world was about him that night. It felt like him and smelled like him and looked like him. And all of it was beautiful.
Especially the part when he said he loved me.
Christmas Day was more than I'd expected. I didn't have to waste my MS presents after all. I got to give them to Billy, and was rewarded with his kisses and touches and soft, subtle "I love you"s.
I don't know why he said it. I can't comprehend. But we're in love. I know we are. And it all makes sense, you know? He's my best mate. He always has been, after all. And now...
Oh, he's the best lover in the world. I can't understand how the rest of this town can resist him. I'm so glad I crashed here when I did. That I found him. That I wrote those letters and carried out Christmas Eve. And, though it might have been something of a happy mistake, I'm glad I told him that I loved him.
I've seen him smile now...more than enough to make up for his sadness last week. He smiles and brings me close and kisses me. He kisses me. I still can't understand it. I feel like I'm in a dream. My heart keeps flipping over and over just thinking about him; I'd never acted like this before. It was just...Christmas Eve. And then...it just happened.
I've never been so bloody upset about going back to work. But, very unfortunately, after spending three wonderful days in Billy's care, I had to take up the post once again and head down to the office this morning. It hurt so bad, seeing Billy waiting at the bottom of the stairs as I made ready to leave. He kissed me so wonderfully at the door. I didn't want to let go. I almost didn't. But I must have eventually, since I remember going to work today and seeing the horrible mess Marty had made of things while I was on break.
I really don't understand that man, Marty. He thinks he owns the place. He'd totally mucked my system to hell and really made business hard to carry out. All of the mail bins were organised completely out of order and he had rearranged the mail slots with, what he said was "less frustrating labels." I didn't understand a bloody thing about it. I couldn't find half of the mail I needed to get out because he'd put the mail in separate bags instead of their respective bins, and, hell, I don't even know what was in the bins because it wasn't any good to me today.
He decided we needed a store of packing peanuts. Packing peanuts. Now I have to deal with a whole sodding mailroom filled with packing peanuts. Packing. bloody. peanuts!!
I'm going in to work tomorrow. I know it's a Sunday, and I know I'll kill myself for not staying in with Billy on our weekend together...but if I don't take care of this post office shite I'm going to be up to my neck all through next week. Billy says he understands, but he has the most heart-aching puppy eyes when he does so.
With any luck, I'll be in and out of that office in no time. If I don't drown in packing peanuts.
My Billy... I feel horrible. I want to spend tomorrow with him. I will make this up to him whether he likes it or not. In the loveliest way, of course.
And Marty is going to listen to me sing Beatles next week. Whether he likes it or not. And I'm only going to sing one song. Loudly. While I organise the mail the way I like it. Also loudly.
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