Untitled. Again.

January 5th, 2004

This entry has been written and deleted and written again, and rewritten, but never actually finished, so many times. It’s been so long since I’ve bothered to sit down and concentrate on writing. I sorta forget how.

Last time we spoke, he had left. I’ve made it out of the adjustment period alive. There’s no reason for me to say it that way – I’m nowhere close to not alive. Being alone hasn’t brought on the wall of tremors and lonliness I expected. It’s hardly even painful. So far. I’ve spent most of the past two months waiting for the other shoe to drop, holding my breath for the emotional outbursts, and expecting the world to come crashing down on my head at any time. Nothing of the sort has happened, and I’m beginning to realize that nothing of the sort /will/ happen. I think I spent so much time unhappy with him, that now being without him is just a huge relief.

Don’t get me wrong though. I’m far from happy. I try to keep the crying to a minimum, because my eyes get noticeably swollen and I don’t like to answer people at work when they ask me if I stayed up too late drinking. (“No, you idiot, I stayed up all night curled up in a ball in my laundry closet. Shall I call you next time to smoothe my tear-soaked hair out of my face?”)

NaNoWriMo is becoming my traditional November failure. Holidailies was closed by the time I even got around to remembering to sign up. And that’s a good thing, really, because as you can tell, I didn’t take the time to write even ONE December entry.

2004 is here. I get a year older in a couple of days. I’m not motivated to do much lately, but that will pass. It always does. The fact that I opened up a text editor to write this here entry is a good sign.

There is more, and I’ll work on it. Until then, may this year be better than the last. Please.