I wrote this late last night and got distracted and somehow, it never got posted. Better late, than never.

I have some other better lates than nevers to post, too, today. And for now, here you are.

It is almost Thursday.  Less than 45 minutes now.

And then, it will be Friday. Always a good thing, always something you can trust – the movement of time. It is comforting, the simple fact that every twenty four hours another day of the calendar is turned and a fresh start is proclaimed.

I am very aware of two things today. One is our houseguest – one of Katherine's friends from school whose father is having cancer surgery in Los Angeles. I am being the supreme Carol Brady/Susie Homemaker/Name that Super Human, make everything from scratch, answer to all the kids needs kind of woman… had some tasty lasagna for dinner, fresh sheets on the bed, nice serene candles going, everything in a row for her… and praying Emma and Sam don't annoy her too much.

The second is the tumultuous quality of life. I quickly went from ecstatic, overflowing joy to… sadness about my brother John's worsening condition…. to odd reconciliation with John's situation – and gladness that I will be seeing him Friday morning.

And then, there is the skin. His skin. Far away skin.  I spoke to Jen B. today and she asked me about him. "How is he?" she asked.

"What 'he' do you mean?"

David. My Muse. My Beloved Friend. I think many people think he fell off the edge of Kern County and out of my life.  Not at all, not at all.

I just miss his skin a lot these days. And no, I don't mean sex. Get your thoughts out of the gutter. I miss the skin on his forehead, where we would connect and breathe,  breathe and connect. I miss the skin on his forearms and calves. The skin beneath those cargo shorts that make me crazy, I think they are called cargo shorts anyway.

I miss the hair on his skin, the way it reflects the sun.

I miss the smell of his skin, the "had a busy day" smell of his skin, the "we've been out in this almost wilderness for hours beside this fire" smell of his skin, the "we are separated from the dark, cold, rain by this truck" smell of his skin.

The sleeping in the hot springs smell of his skin, the tired-eyed glance of waking up and not wanting to wake up and "did the sun come up yet?" question on the skin between his eyes. And yes, it did. The sun, I mean. It came up.

I miss the skin behind his ear, where I whispered, "Is that a coyote I hear?"

I miss the skin on his knuckles, stretched as he held onto the steering wheel, off-road with the Toyota, egging on the cows to come chase us as it felt like we were teetering on the edge of something – sanity, perhaps?

I am becoming quite practiced at delayed gratification.

I refuse to like it.

So, come Saturday I will have said goodbye to John, again.

I will have waved "so-long!" to my houseguest.

I will have lived 48 more hours.

And John will be that much closer to not having skin anymore.

And I will still be missing his skin.