It’s pretty late here, about 1238 am.

TNG is sleeping next to me.  His stomach is sick from the richness of tonight’s dinner.  We had a bacchanal at a lovely chef-owned creative place.  4 courses, each of which we shared, a bottle of wine, an after dinner espresso, a third dessert.

I have pms, so I ate everything in sight, and my stomach is fine.  His . . . is not.

Thanks to the espresso, I am up and wired.  I love hearing him breathe.  Every few minutes, he wakes himself up, his stomach roiling. Then he nods back off.

Next week will mark two months since we’ve been redating again.  He’s wonderful, so wonderful, in fact, that I have decided to stop dating other people.  Well, other new people.

I have not yet told him of my decision . . . and I may change my mind.  But, for now, we’re very happy and I adore him and he adores me.

We are planning to spend tonight — with its ridiculously extravagant meal — and tomorrow night together.  I suppose tomorrow will be more low-key — maybe a movie, maybe a bike ride.

TNG is a lovely man . . . sweet, adorable, kind and loving.  He spoils me and consistently goes above and beyond to be just wonderful and amazing.