Assault of the mind

August 1st.

I've been single for about a month, now. I'm not a fan. I mean, sure, there are good things about being just me. Less laundry for example. My kind of food (more like no food) in the fridge. I only have my own stuff to pick up after myself, and I can watch whatever I want on tv. I have furry pets again. Stuff like that.

Then there's a huge list of bad things. Huge. Like watching all the bad tv alone. Like the silence. Like the loneliness, emotionally, mentally and physically. Like the realizations that keep hitting me. There was an american football commercial on earlier, and it occured to me there won't be an O'Leary's thing next spring, for the Super Bowl. And I won't be going to London next fall, to watch a game and have Fish'n'Chips with Esben in Camden. Or sunday evenings with the guys watching the game. I'll be spending christmas with my family. I was looking forward to being with his mothers family again. It was the best christmas ever, last time. It was a real christmas. My love of gaming has vanished. I'm trying to get back into WoW, for the launch of MoP, but.. I don't have him to talk to about it, to get excited about it with. I'd be going to the midnight release alone. Or bumping into him there, which strikes me as even worse.

I guess my live role playing will suffer, too. Summer scenarios won't be the same. I won't give up Junction. I love it too much. But even that will be weird. I'm in his area, his part of the kingdom. I'll have to lay low and behave for a while. I still want to sit down and cry when I think about my changeling character. It's pathetic, really, but.. She's the most complicated character I've made. So much thought has been put into her, into making her realistic and fucked up, all at once. She's a freak of nature, and a wonderful one at that. I so wasn't done with her. For all the campaigns I've been in so far, none have captured me like this one. The group dynamic was amazing, too. I miss playing with the guys.

I still can't sleep on the damn couch. Well. I'm sleeping on A couch, but it's my mothers. It's too hard, and I don't have a pillow, so my neck and back feels like crap every day. But I just can't sleep on the other one, yet. I'm up half the night, and I still wake up at 6 or 7, confused. I don't talk to the empty room anymore. I just stare blindly around, expecting him to suddenly sit there, or call out that dinner is ready.

I think I put up a good act. Mom said I was handling everything so well. That Tom was surprised I seemed so happy. And I just nodded my head and gave her the "Of course I'm not perfectly fine, but I will be, it's not so bad." speech. Like a good daughter should, so she won't worry her mother.

I'm still so angry. Furious. The other day, it seemed like it was going to rain, and I went to the balcony to check the temperature. And I glanced at the window beside the door. The window he wrote "I love Cille" on, months ago. A year, more likely. I think I stared at it for a full 5 minutes. It took me about that long to realize I was crying. So naturally, I got a bucket of water, some gloves, a sponge and a piece of cloth, and I slopped water on it till it went away. By then, the tears had given way to seething fury so bad, I felt like breaking the window in stead. I put everything in garbagebags, out there, I even ripped off the screening that's been on there since my mother got the place 18 years ago. I scrubbed down the marble table, and swept the floor. It looks like a totally new place. It occured to me that it was the one place in this apartment I didn't have a clear memory of us, from. Apart from what was written, nothing came to mind. So I reclaimed it, demolished every sign of him there, and took the space back.

Of course, now I remember things. Several more things. Like the challenge I gave him, one day when I was bored between classes. Or a conversation we had out there during a party. Or how he stored my favorite cider out there in the winter. One was still there, when I cleaned.

I still have 2 boxes left to unpack. Mostly old schoolstuff. But I just can't take any more. I found the picture his cousin painted for us, for her confirmation reception, a small token for everyone who came to celebrate her. It's simple, a black background, with a blue and white star, and our initials in purple.4x4 inches, I'd guess. We jumped rope with the kids, he in his suit and me in my way too expensive coctail dress, that he'd given me. I kicked off my heels and just went to play with his niece. The sun was shining, and we were having so much fun. I remembered the oriental theme, with the bright pink and green, and how I was talking to his aunt just a few weeks ago, at his mothers 50th birthday, about how I had absolutely loved the theme.

I love that family. And I miss them so much, already. That's a whole different grief. I came across that picture from the pool at the house on the westcoast. The one where he carries me, and I'm holding a glass of sweet wine to his lips, so he can drink without putting me down. I remember his mom's face when she saw us dancing in the water. It was silly, we were playing around and being romantic in that fairytale way that doesn't really happen in real life. But she beamed. And I just felt so right. It wasn't a perfect vacation. At all. And I'm sure he still remembers it as an awful event. But I remember that moment. I remember having just decided to give it another chance. I remember how soft his hair felt, cause it was growing out. I remember him carrying me around in that pool, swinging me around him and holding me close, while his family talked and laughed, and his mother beamed at us. I remember going to the beach, just him and me, watching the sunset and sighting that stupid dog, that might have just stepped out of The Little Mermaid. I remember taking a detour through the bushes on our way back. I remember that huge bed we had, that neither of us really could take fully advantage of, cause the other one was too far away. We crept up in the middle of it, right up against each other.

All these things are constantly in my head. Every second of the day, I'm battling them to the back of my mind, reminding myself we'll never be. It's done. I can never let him close to me again. He breaks me, and I won't be broken. I can't live my life being lied to. And I certainly can't live my life, feeling bad about thinking I'm being lied to. When I have every right. I don't even think I can forgive it. Not this time. Not now that I know he always treated me as a fool. Not when I know that, in a way, I let him.

I try to spend my days daydreaming about Alexander Skarsgård. It's turning into obsession. But it's a damn good distraction from all the thoughts and memories threatening to take over. I wouldn't mind spending the next year in southern Stockholm, trying to find the man, if it meant a year with a project to keep my mind off all that. I'll accept my fate as a crazy stalker gladly, then. I'm already planning what to say if I ever met him, to stand out. Just in case. The Bat and I already planned how his and my wedding will lead to her being married to Mike Grubbs. Maybe a thing like that really could happen, if we wished and worked hard enough.

I really do have too vivid an imagination. That kind of thing only happens in the movies anyway.