16 October 2013
So much happened today.
I don't even know if it'll all fit on this page but I'll skim through the rest and just focus on the morning.
First, I fired the bodyguards after finding all six of them asleep on duty. Useless.
And apparently, Sam's colleagues turned against him the very next monday I promoted him to be the early childhood director position.
I truly hate the way his face falls whenever he's forced to greet one of those jealous creatures on the halls. So I handled it the best way I know how to- two teachers fired today, and more will follow if they don't learn their place.
No man is an island. No one is irreplaceable.
Except for my Sammy. Lord knows I've tried that and here I am re-living my day with him.
He still doesn't know it was me who made lunch yesterday so he carefully placed the container back in the fridge with the sweetest note:
"To my secret friend,
Enjoy"
How adorable is that?
I did enjoy it. Especially while watching him eat. He's just the definition of table manners.
He's a slow eater. Easily distracted. Sometimes clumsy.
But never once does he touch his phone before he's finished his meal.
He's too present. Too sincere. Beautiful.
Now for the grand event…
I couldn't sleep a single second last night from the anticipation.
I needed more-
more time with him, more touch, more servings of his presence.
Daddy is starving.
Ms. Adams insists I might scare Sam away if I "can't control myself."
She even suggested that Sam might be imaginary — that I'm projecting my "ideal man" onto him.
As if I even knew what love felt like before meeting him.
What does she know?
So, around five in the morning, I drove to his apartment.
The door was locked, curtains closed — and that sparked an idea:
What if I installed cameras inside?
Then I could stop wasting time sneaking around for proof.
I could just watch him — always — in real time.
The idea was brilliant. Execution required finesse.
Breaking in while he was at work? Risky — his neighbors are practically guard dogs.
I needed a legitimate reason to enter his home…
And then it hit me:
fumigation.
A simple, responsible, mandatory professional service.
Who approves such things?
The landlord. The government.
I already have the signed permit.
Camera chips ready.
Experts on standby.
Tomorrow, I become Houdini.
Let the magic begin.
———
P.S. I don't think I like him cooking for me.
He's an amazing chef — but my mind twists it into some sort of servitude.
And I hate the idea of him being beneath me in any way.
He deserves to be cherished.
He deserves… me.