I should be working, but my mind isn’t on what I need to do.

Maybe as the day is drawing nearer, I have more emotion about M.’s leaving. I know rationally it’s not the end, but even if it’s not “the end” it’s an end. And, of course, life being as it is, it’s not the swelling music of a Hollywood ending with a setting sun and silhouetted embrace. It’s anxiety and stress and little details and miscues and misunderstandings, as with most moves and changes. I would much prefer the silhouetted embrace, or at least some hard-core cuddling.

Knowing that the future will be better and will be fine and hearing the reassuring use of the future tense and using it yourself, doesn’t quite solve the irrational sensitivity and fears, I guess.

Jesus, why am I so maudlin? I think I should focus on writing totally hack references to living with a guy v. living alone. What about the toilet seat being up, huh, ladies? Am I right? And, what’s with men and the remote control? It’s like it’s surgically attached or something.