"My soul is dying!" and other over-dramatic explatives from Mo to Trail

Thursday, Trail had a gig in Portland, so I drove to Portland from Centraila after work on Wednesday and then returned to work by Friday at 1:00. I would do anything to spend time with my man.

Sitting across from Trail in a Portland cafe, clawing at the table's shiny black veneer, I burst into inappropriately loud laughter, "No! I am serious! My soul is dying."
Trail is muted.
Since the day I returned home from Japan I have been craving that form of beauty that grows out of adventure, lust for life, challenge. "I... need to see new things, hear new people, TRAVEL!" I continue huffing. But he just doesn't seem to want to take me seriously. Perhaps because I use such dramatic language as to say 'my soul is dying' when he would more likely remark something practicle and even-keeled like, 'I think we ought to go on vacation to Italy soon.'
He covers my hand in his and without words he tells me that he loves me, he wants me to be happy, he will go anywhere with me.
But in the year since I first cajoled him into agreeing to travel Europe together - he hasn't, and my childish impatience is throwing a loud, emotional, temper tantrum.
"Did you get the days off that you requested at work?" He asks.
"Well, sort of. But not really." I fumble. "I did get the days off I requested..." He is wondering to himself why I never make any sense. "But I didn't ask for any of the days off that I really wanted!" I whine. "I cannot plan OUR trip to Europe without you choosing the days we will go there together. So I asked for a few long weekends in the summer and I'll probably just give all of that time back later when I go to ask for the time that I really want off. The time when we go to Europe together." Now he gets where all the drama in my word choice is coming from today. Too hard headed to beg, I am begging him to commit a time for us to travel together.
"I think I can get a few weeks from mid-September though October." I add, now cool, collected, and sitting at the bargaining table.
"I GUESS we could go to Europe in the fall..." I see his eyes drift to somewhere behind me as the abacus in his head slide small circles of impending debt from the present to the future. He knows that I dream big, and that if we stay together he will always be broke. 'First she wanted a house together' he must be thinking 'and now she wants this trip to Europe' he must continue thinking.
But I lean slightly to the left and catch his gaze, smiling in my mouth and a glint in my eyes, and he sees how happy I am to think of the two of us traveling the world together. He is resigned.
'I love her so much' he must continue thinking to himself. He leans across the table to kiss me.
In an uproar of manly loudness Bill, Gabe, and Joel storm in the cafe, a few minutes behind us. I glance at my watch, take my breakfast to go, and utter goopy-loving good-byes before leaving the cafe to drive about 100 miles to work that day.
'I can't blame him for not understanding my need for this,' I think to myself as I speed for hours, driving to the maximum security cage I lock myself into 40 hours a week. 'He already has his own adventure in the music.'

As I show him my dedication and to sharing his soulful experiences in all the long-drive and late-night shows I attend, I feel comforted knowing that he too will try to support my soul's desires.