what this weekend is

This weekend feels weird to me. I am looking down at my feet for insight but all they are telling me is forty miles, forty miles. It gets me off topic, but I do have to thank my feet for their forty miles this week. I will do so by taking off the toenail polish I just put on a few days ago. Because I've realized I hate the color. I threw out the rest of the bottle. But what this weekend is, I don't know. S is away--I have not seen him since Wednesday night and I am not sure if that evening can even count because when he came over it was so late and I was so tired that I only ever saw him through a tiny slit in my eyelids. They were too heavy to open fully and my mind was too far gone into the chasm of almost-asleep to actually communicate in anyway other than by burying my face in his chest.
I did not think of myself as uncomfortably clingy, but I think I am becoming that way. Four days apart begins to seem like a loss of identity. I don't really like this about myself. I love S, but I want to still be a whole person minus S. It's so easy to let myself depend on him, though, because he is so dependable. He is always there. Supremely count-on-able. I don't want him to NOT be, but I suspect that he would tie my shoes for me if I ask him to, and oh LORD. That is too much of a good thing. Princess doesn't fit me.
I will take pride in being a self this weekend. I foresee tacos and audiobooks and thrift stores, walking up the hill to my favorite friend's apartment, spending some hours with my family, football, card games, chocolate covered pretzels, Hulu. You know.