Phoning it In

January can bite my bag.

I have been working so much that my hands hurt, my head wants to explode, and the light at the end of the tunnel to which I referred in an earlier post seems like a cruel joke—as though instead of freedom that light is actually the shine off the coagulated surface of a sewage dump.

Far be it from me to be pessimisti…*cackle*  I couldn’t even write that shit.  Woo!  One point for trying!

Anyway, I can barely see beyond the end of this week, much less into 2014 when the real party begins in earnest.  But, there is a rest stop in a nearer sewage dump.

Stacey and I have come to an amiable plateau.  The fussy ends—bills, apartment deposit, even the selling to me of an unneeded couch for a more than reasonable price—all were done in a pleasant, happy manner.

One thing he said struck out at me, though.  He said that, after so long in this apartment, he was going to miss it.  He said it was the first place that felt like home since he was a kid.  I have never—and I mean that truly—felt like this was home.  It was nice, it was my first apartment, and it was a place to live.  It was a safe place mostly, and significant in that it taught me to be on my own (partially).  But I never felt like it was home.

The differences between Stacey and I grew starker as the conversation progressed.  He will be missing a home, and I can’t scramble out fast enough so that I can get to a place that will potentially be home (until 2014, anyway).  I can’t wait to kick this to the past and have it be a memory.  I’m not saying there won’t be nostalgia or even that momentary sadness one feels when even the worst of situations is over—we miss those rays of sunshine during otherwise bleak times—but I can’t pretend that I won’t be excited, that the overwhelming feelings won’t be relief and happiness.

*sigh*  Enough sentimental crap.  It gives me angina.

P.S. For those sick, deranged people (from the few who actually read this crap and don’t already know), NO, Stacey and I are not moving away after a spoiled relationship.  Please, by the power of all the gods, don’t ever think that.  We were just friends.  I’m more attracted to an anthill or the wind than I am to Stacey.  The very thought makes me ill.  The End.

Sweet mother of GOD!  Keep it away!

Sweet mother of GOD! Keep it away!

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~ by Darren Endymion on January 14, 2013.

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