Unintentionally, yesterday seemed to be filled with ‘I-don’t-care-fuck-you-get-on-with-it’ moments. Okay, maybe they were intentional. There were several, some big, some small. As small as having a frozen taco I’d made for Chad and I and hadn’t been able to eat yet (there are around twenty in the freezer) and later eating some of the pepper popcorn we’d bought to eat while we watch movies. I know that these seem silly and little, but they were rather huge for me, both things I’d been saving—things I felt I needed to save for when he returned. Well, he’s not returning. While many people have said, ‘It’s his loss, move on,’ it’s not that simple. It is his loss. He made a stupid decision (I guess the right one for him, since the party life makes him happier than me). However, it is also my loss. He’s the best man I’ve ever met. It can’t be cut down to simply his loss—it’s not. We both lost. However, it is time I move on. In every way. Even when I don’t feel like it. In that vein, there were several aspects of yesterday focused on that. Life may not be how I want it, but I can still enjoy the life I’ve got. In that vein, I’ve got a date on Saturday. Part of me feels guilty and sad for what that represents, but I am shoving that part away. I am choosing to just focus on the excited part of going on an actual date (you know, dinner, movie, the whole thing). It will nice to feel a little buzz of anticipation and curiosity. Just because I can’t have homemade tortillas for dinner everyday, doesn’t mean I can enjoy sonic cheeseburgers the rest of the time. Funny how everything comes back to food, huh?