superflea

I find that I don't really have much to say these days, although I reckon I had to type something new to get that last depression-festival entry off of my page.

Single for two weeks today.

I was bitching before that my apartment was too small. It sure seems a lot smaller, what with all the girl's earthly belongings stacked neatly in the middle of the living room. This part sucks.

One more week until moving day. One more week until I help her move her stuff over, drive her to Ikea, kiss her on the cheek and wish her good luck. One more week until "Call me soon" or "Let's have dinner next weekend" has an awful undertone of 'final nail in the coffin'. This part sucks.

I've found out some interesting things about what one goes through in a breakup, but I think I'm going to keep a lot of those inside for now. I'm going through 'stuff' which, while novel, isn't necessarily to be repeated in polite company. I'm so textbook.

At least there is an impending tsunami of work getting ready to crash down on me. It's marginally terrifying. I've found, for instance, that expressing an interest in joining the script crew, just to contribute stuff and learn the ropes, can occasionally wind up with you being made the primary writer on a major project.

No run with it, Tiger!!!

Eep.

I'll be fine, y'all... but pray for me nonetheless.

(And once the dust settles on the big move, it is my understanding that ginny and dogslife are taking me dancin', so I'm really looking forward to that.)