uncommoncold

I think it's going to hit when I go to call him to come smoke in the park with me, or her to dress up and go downtown for ridiculously overpriced desserts, or him to come over and watch a movie, or her to dance around in the kitchen to silly pop music. That's when it's going to strike down and make me feel hollow inside, but for now, I can accept that it's better to move gracefully within these changes.

The goodbyes were all fine. I just hate them so fucking much. I get scattered and can't quite put my words together the way I'd like to. "I'll miss you" comes out as "Good luck with the U-Haul tomorrow", and, "You mean the world to me, so please don't forget me" comes out as, "Take care!"

On the flip side, my new place is absolutely wonderful. I don't even have the words to describe it, really. It's swank. My favourite part is the balcony, of course, but parts of me secretly enjoy being able to fall asleep to the white noise of traffic whirring by outside, and waking up to the muffled hum of rain falling on the city.

Classes start tomorrow. Keep me busy, Italian, I challenge you.

I want to pick up a tenor saxophone somewhere and get back into reading music again. I really, really do. Must save money first.

The Weakerthans show a few days ago was absolutely brilliant. I love them more than I love my firstborn.

Apparently I make the best Greek salad ever. [That's a lie, but it was awfully good.]

Tonight is drinks downtown with friends. I'm sure I'll come back and write a silly, drunken post about how rad it was. I'm giving you fair warning.

Sigh.

[I'm not going to see your face when I turn a corner and that, I must say, is really fucking strange to me right now. It doesn't hurt, exactly, but my oh my, is it ever odd.]