Doodle Bug (minikin) wrote,
Doodle Bug

not a great day

Good Stuff:

Knight held me
I signed the paperwork for the closing
I didn't have to work
I got a bigger paycheck than I was expecting (due to mistaking which week was payday)
Flar fixed yummy dinner
Watched The Bourne Identity
Played Mario Party 5 with Tigger and actually won a bonus star for Mini-Games.

Not so good stuff:

Cried. Too much. Hell, weepy as a pregnant woman today. Not pregnant, just missing him, wanting it not to be over, etc. etc. Not apparently done letting go. It's really really hard to accept it being over, when I expected it to last forever. I honestly don't expect that of everything, no matter how much I may appear to.

Gained a pound on vacation. ^&%*&^% progesterone.

Forgot to bring my driver license to bank. %*&% Patriot Act requires copies of government issued photo id with banking transactions of this sort.

I ate too many chicken fajitas for dinner and too much strawberry/cheese coffee cake for dessert. (Thank you for the dessert, Woobiewooster.)

Stayed up too late. Didn't finish reading LJ.

Didn't get anything done today except sleep late, fall apart in Knight's arms, shower, dress (that felt like a major accomplishment by then), sign those papers, pick up my paycheck, drop off laundry, pick up soda and produce, cash/deposit my paycheck, and sit.

Maybe tomorrow I will be strengthened by all of today's crying, and will be able to tackle the day with energy. Need to: update quicken, clean the kitchen, make dinner, unpack from the trip, make more lists. I've really little idea what I need to do.

miss him
want it all to be a bad dream and wake up

crying doesn't help
feel too sad to stay busy
feel tired
feel worn out
feel defeated

gotta say, the drugs didn't make me not care.

I'm surrounded in this house by him. And that makes no sense. I can sit in a room and look around, and not be able to see anything of him.

Except, the couch where we sat together.
The TV where we watched Clerks together.
The computer on which I shared so much in writing with him.
The book he loaned me, about Perl.
The picture of both of them.
The picture of Roo.
The kitchen, where we cooked together. Where he cooked for me, where I cooked for him. The house is all space that I shared with him. There is not space that isn't filled with memories of him.

How could I bear to walk into his house, no matter the reason, if I have so much trouble returning to my own?

Writing helped last time. Also prayer. Starting over all over again on getting over it. Again and again, everytime I wake up and it's still over.

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