I know you all missed me - I've been busy - what can i say.
If i listed all the things i've been doing lately, then to be honest - you'd be bored.
Instead i've attached a monologue i wrote ages ago....
Sometimes at night i get lonelyI sit staring at the clock.
The second hand moves from five to six to seven. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
Any second now the phone will ring.
Any second now the phone will ring.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
Eight, nine, ten.
I could unplug the phone.
Disconnect it from the wall.
Rip it out and put it in the bathroom.
Smother it with a pillow.
And just go to bed.
But instead I sit and wait for it to ring.
Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen.
I wait for her to ring. You see, sometimes at night I get lonely.
At night I can’t sleep. I wish I could. But I can’t.
I long to reach out and hold hands and talk about all the days events, and flick through the randomly selected cable channels together.
I want to order room service with someone and drink the mini bar together.
I need someone who will tell me its time to stop talking, and to go to sleep now.
I want to have someone there who can just nuzzle up, and put her arms around me and breathe against the back of my neck.
But there’s just me in the big impersonal room and it’s a very long night.
And sometimes I get lonely.
So I wait for her to ring.
Five years we’ve been married.
And we were together five before that.
It was a whirlwind romance, with candlelit dinners, cards and flowers.
There was that heady rush of passion each time we had to part,
The kisses that we both wished would never finish,
We would talk and talk and talk about anything and everything
And we’d laugh and hold hands, and play and make love.
And its no wonder I feel lonely in the night.
The clock continues to tick. Tick, tick, tick
Eighteen, nineteen, twenty.
Yet somewhere the passion went.
I didn’t notice it go.
There was no day, no moment, no second.
Twenty-one, twenty-two.
One day we were two twenty some-things in love
And the next we were married,
And working,
And shopping,
And ironing,
And cooking
And dusting,
And tired
And broke
Every day after day after day after day
With no time for love
And no energy for fun
Or kisses that never end,
Or games to play.
With nothing but the fond remembrances of yester year.
Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven
And still I wait for her to ring.
Because I’m lonely at night.
And I just can’t sleep when I’m away.
Sometimes, I dream of those first years.
When we would catch each other’s eyes and our hearts would leap.
Butterflies would explode into life and dance a wild fandango.
Imagine what it would be to feel that again.
To share a drink and laugh at each other’s ridiculous stories.
To touch, just in passing, to show you care.
To reach up and run my fingers through her hair and have her look up at me and smile,
Rather than tut, and sigh and push me away.
To want me again. To want to be with me again.
I sound like a sad loser.
And sometime I feel like one.
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.
Tick, tick, tick
But tonight, while I’m away, things are different.
Tonight things are changing.
My heart beats with anticipation
There’s an electricity in the air that’s beyond my comprehension.
When our eyes met there was a spark.
It caught me completely by surprise.
When we talked it felt like I had come home, that I was where I belonged.
When we danced it was like we were in tune,
That we were moving to the same beat.
Which we were because it was the same song,
And we laughed
And we drank,
And we talked,
And we just sat,
And for the first time
The first time in years it was there.
The chemistry, the spark, the magic.
That indefinable something that pushes your switch,
That brings you to life.
Was there.
Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven.
Sometimes at night I feel lonely.
Always when I’m away.
I lie awake and listen to the air conditioning
And dream of being at home.
Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty.
But sometimes at night I feel lonely
Even when I’m home.
I lie awake and listen to her breathing
The gap between us ten miles wide
And I wonder how all this changed.
Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three.
So I sit in my room and wait for the phone to ring.
Because I can’t sleep tonight.
And I need someone to hold me,
And listen to me,
And care for me.
By someone who wants to be held,
And listened to,
And cared for.
Forty-four, forty-five, forty-six
And maybe if the phone rings
I won’t answer it.
That might just be enough
For tonight.
Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine
Feel free to send me a publishing deal....
