flaky crust

While I prefer driving to work in the dark and driving home from work in the light (which is the opposite of what I have been doing since the damned time change), this morning’s drive was rather dreamlike. The eastern half of the sky was transformed into the underside of ocean waves that were painted gradient hues of iridescent egg yolk, bubblegum, and tangerine, while the western mountains reflected back the same color pallet. It was like swimming through a Disney version of the sea. If only Ariel had been beside me, could have been near perfection. Not to mention that I have finally perfected making my coffee concoction. Honestly, it is better than anything I have ever had at Starbucks (however, not Caribou)—which makes it strange that I still have to resist the urge to not stop at Starbuck everyday—I love my addict personality.
The past several days have been better. The hard crust around my heart is starting to solidify somewhat. While still fragile, if I can keep nurturing it for a bit longer, I may just stand a chance of it beginning to thicken and taken root. I hope so. It’s been a relief. I have actively taken some steps to aid in its hardening. Constantly repeating ‘there is no Arizona’ helps, as well as focusing on the negative aspects of him (he wasn’t perfect, no one is) and playing them up in my mind is preferable to the reality of who he really is. I hate doing that, as none of them greatly endangered our lives together—except for the one that caused him to leave, but it helps. Despite how enmeshable I seem and how much I want to be with him, by nature, I am typically a pretty independent person on the whole. I can’t be around people very much without them getting on my nerves and needing time to step away and let my mind breathe. It was the thing that finally convinced me that I wanted to be with him (if you’ll remember how it all started—he was the one that chased me, that wanted me, I wanted none of him), but from the very first date, there was truly never a moment in our years together where he got on nerves or I needed time away from him to be able to deal. His presence was like a balm to every part of me—an experience I have never had before with anyone. All that said, I am spending more time in solitary confinement, with my dogs, with my books, with whatever my mind decides to occupy—when it starts going into dangerous territory, I turn to my coping skills that I have mentioned above. I don’t know how long I can last like this, but I hope I can pull it off. There is no reason to continue to grieve profusely over a love that doesn’t want me and isn’t morning my absence, indeed is relishing the lack of me.
In similar vein, when I go to LA to see Patrick’s CD release concert (which I am beyond ecstatic about), I am leaving a day early (mostly in part to make sure I can get a seat flying standby—thank you Mouse for providing airfare for a most needed year); I am going to spend the first day and night in Palm Spring and explore and see what this little Mecca has to offer, then spend the following day in West Hollywood until I am ready to hurl from all the gayness and rush thankfully to the concert before having to get up several hours before dawn the next morning to return home. Keep living. Keep breathing. Stop crying. Stop actively loving what doesn’t give a shit about me. Focus on family and best friends. Focus on puppies. Focus on writing. Focus on reading. Focus on moments with a God that seems both more foreign and more precious every day.