A man's clothes once hung here.
Since Anthony officially moved out a few weeks ago I've been on the most badass roller-coaster of emotion.
I am deeply satisfied with the space between us, but am grief-stricken at the death of our life together - happy/sad, angry/at peace, lonely/introspective, excited/fearful. And still, just plain grief-stricken. No other way of explaining it.
Holy. fucking. shit. this is complicated. I don't wish anymore that something awful had happened to make this easier. I understand now that this is my journey in this life: I walk through the fire. I never run.
I wish I could erase everything I've said and or done in the past few weeks. I'm drinking too much wine, I'm too hurt, too raw to be in good company. I'm barely keeping it together. I'm saying things that seem out of context even to my own ears. I'm confused and lonely. I have no idea where I am anymore. I'm insecure, uprooted, and lost.
And I'm extremely happy.
Which makes me sad. Very, very sad.
Someone recently told me, "You're unhappily happy." Yep. That pretty much sums it up.
I've "de-Anthony'd" the house some more. After he took most of his clothes out of the closet I took down the collage of photos we had in the living room; I also put away all his extra toiletries and basically spread out; I took pictures out of frames and I carefully stored away things like honeymoon mementos and meaningful gifts; I filled in all the gaps from the things he took with things I love like books, trinkets, and flowers. With the exception of his books in the bookcase, it's a relatively Anthony-free home.
God, that's depressing.
But on the other hand, it's uplifting. It means I'm not constantly reminded of the changes voraciously feeding upon my life. I can take this a little more slowly, though everything is happening so quickly.
We've continued to be kind and loving to each other and so I can't really complain. We are often finding ourselves in a "your turn/now it's my turn" cycle. First I feel something, then he feels it and vice versa. Luckily, we're only weeks apart in most cases, not months.
Sometimes I'm so lonely I pine for a partner and other times I am blissfully free languishing in my individuality. I miss having someone to cuddle with before I fall asleep, to cook for, to think about, to take care of. My nights are so utterly solitary. I at once yearn for them for the break from mothering and regard them with dread because of their quiet. But I'm also excited at the freedom all of this means; I can go out, talk to whoever I want, do whatever I want.
A couple of good things have come out of all of this cluster-fuck of ups and downs. First, I have utterly and completely fallen back in love with Austin. One of my very best friends from high school came to visit me this past weekend and I cherished the opportunity to see Austin through her eyes and my own recovering ones. It was amazing. Not to mention her visit lifted my spirits immensely.
And second, I'm really relishing my time with Hawk because I know that soon I'll have a job again and I won't have all this precious time with him.
I don't know why I'm having such a difficult time accepting all this bad with a bunch of good. I guess I'm more used to lots of bad and a little good, or the other way around. But right now my life's volume is really loud: lots of bad, lots of good. I feel insignificant in the face of it all. I'm struggling.
But, at least I have Austin and Hawk to fill the gaps, even if there are big gaping holes left behind by Anthony.
Under the MoPac bridge on one of my morning walks with Hawk and any couple of different friends who join me.
A field at Zilker.
At one of my favorite Austin coffee shops, Austin Java on Barton Springs.
Linda with her very first Lone Star beer ever at the heavily mustached Shangri-la.
Habanero-infused vodka bloody marys at South Congress Cafe.
The cheese of 6th St personified.
See how friendly Austinites are? This is the 3rd phone number Linda got in two days.
Friends on a rooftop.
Friends in a hot dog joint.
My front yard for coffee.
At Allens Boots so Linda could grab a pair.
Alamo Draft House for dinner, a movie, and a bottle of wine.
I'm going to embrace the shit outta this shirt (and Linda bought one just like it).