Ah, that was misleading. Things are good. We close on the house on Friday. His leaving for Europe for six months is being pushed back to September, if not further, so I won't have to deal with moving all by my lonesome.
Maybe, maybe I can have everything I want: a mortgage, two months split between London and Paris, six weeks of nothing but yoga in Costa Rica. Maybe, maybe it will work. Money is the only issue, and that's not an issue at all.
Made it up to San Francisco for a desperately needed weekend of shopping, eating, and guzzling mimosas. Saw old roommates and their new babies, old friends and their new partners, old acquaintances and their newfound sobriety.
I'm back down to my high school weight and no one said I looked thin, but they all said I looked strong and happy. I am. This is a good body.
Different life circumstances, but the delighted fondness remains. Different core subjects, but the conversations evolve just as brilliantly. We've all been beaten and exhausted, broke and broken, but we still celebrate each other.