Phantom pains = growing pains?

The makeover will have to wait until I've managed to round up enough gay men (and with the Eurovision song contest- the gay Olympics-  on the horizon that's going to take a while...) but pheeew, at least I've  had my hair done! Didn't feel quite brave enough to give them free hands to do what ever they want which is probably wise considering that last time I did, I walked out of that salon with  hair 12 inches shorter with more than a passing resemblance to Geri Halliwell. During the Spice Girls days. 

The whole process; the highlights, the colour rinse, the shampoo, the conditioning,  the massage, the blow-dry, the styling... it used to take at least three hours. Now it won't even take two. I can't afford to lose any more hair. A.k.a. I can't afford to have  any more stress and heart-break. Any good ideas as to how- feel free to share...

I know it was something I was supposed to enjoy, but that scalp massage they always throw in... I just fail to find  it relaxing. It just makes  me feel awkward. It's somehow... too intimate. My freakish aversion to physical closeness with strangers is why I have to make do with DYI facials (a BAD idea an hour before one is scheduled to meet the President by the way...). I'd never go see a rock concert (one of those billions of others is bound to have bad BO and he's bound to be the guy next to you). I've only ever had a massage once, in a Tunisian hammam, and all could think about was how I was completely naked in front of someone  who hadn't even bought me the customary 3 dinners!

I suppose that's one of the perils of a long-distance-relationship. When you do see each other, you have to turn into this insatiable vixen and make most of the little time you have together. Then you go back to your separate lives where, for months on end, you're deprived of any kind of physical intimacy. 

It's been three months since I last saw The Man. Which means it's been three months since lots of things... And nothing really prepares you for that unbearable phantom pain that you suffer when cut off from that other person; amputated from each other's future. My heart has shrivelled to the size of a raisin and yet it's capable of so much pain...

One of the perks of breaking off a long-distance relationship on the other hand is that you don't need to worry about bumping into the other person when you're at your most unpresentable ( 6am at the petrol station, stocking up on cigarettes, sporting those 3-day-dreadlocks...) but I still can't believe I'm never going to see him.

 I'm never going to be able to walk up to him and wrap my arms around him. To stroke his amazingly supple, silky cheeks. To kiss the top of his head and feel the soft velvetiness of his hair. To bury my head in his neck and inhale the sweet scent of his skin that smells of love and sun. To trace the outline of his regal profile with my finger when he's driving. To feel his hand holding mine before we fall asleep....

I hate this. I hate this so #"?%*¤$! much.  And I can't help but wonder... am I ever going to be able to let anyone touch me again...?