I am a present focused person. Which means I want to enjoy my pleasure now. It makes no sense to wait until tomorrow what can be enjoyed today. Who knows? I could be stretched out under a red dirt coverlette by tomorrow, so let me have my fun today. Of course, that makes waiting for something as wonderful and exciting as the new season of True Blood that much more of a challenge. I awaken each morning reciting the countdown. "Thirteen more mornings to awaken before my eyes can once again be graced to his beauty, twelve more days before my eyes"......you get the picture. For me, it's like a delicious torment. I find myself flipping through the many HBO channels I have on my lineup, hoping to get a glimpse of one of the delicious promos we have been treated to. For me, it's like cranial foreplay. I feel the tingle begin as Bob Dylan rasps "Oh well I love you pretty baby" and doesn't let up until I feel the final tingle hit the tips of my toes. Ah yes, it is a sweet torment.
If I were Joan Baez, I would write such a song about that wonderful man, Stephen Moyer, with eyes bluer than robin's eggs. Each time we are treated to a new photograph of him, in all his beautiful glory, each time we see the briefest of clips of him that foreshadow promises of the delights of a new season, we collapse into a satisfied heap, as we revel in the afterglow of orgasmic joy. With frenzied obcession, we sit, hands gripping the arms of our chairs as we wait with the anticipation of a new bride, for something- anything - that will assauge the aching need we feel to see him. Are we all nuts? Probably. But it's a nuttiness that we, as Billsbabes, are all to proud to be afflicted with. We desire no cure. All we do desire is more explosure to that sweet torment known as True Blood and Mr. William Thomas Compton.
The clock has struck midnight. Seven more days................
P.S. Isn't that beautiful image of Mr. Moyer to die for? If you're curious as to where I found it, then just follow the link to Sunlight On Your Skin. You'll be spellbound!