T minus 3 days, and counting till the move-in.
Sober, things seem safer. Greasy american window food helps to put things back on an even keel. The plague still hovers and my head isn't completely clear though. I am going to give my cats porch time and admire the beautiful, if artistically wounded front yard.
My internal and seemingly eternal life as the ice queen appears to be returning. Perhaps it is easier that way. Despite my wanting to believe I could survive alone, I can't. I need someone, a friend, and although this one is not as fabulous, or as close to my heart as my #1, he is the first person since the departure that has walked into my life and fit.
So I guess I'm going through with it. Even if the situation does leave me with that familiar crystalline ache in my heart, at least I can tell my heart is still there under the ice. Of course I can hope for my miracle, that somehow out here in cold hard reality the fairy tale materializes. What will I do when the problems start to rise? I don't know yet. I guess I'll take everything I've learned and try not to become the screaming, messy puddle of raw hormone emotion that I've been in the past. Try instead to channel light and as always, fuck their hot dogs.
