Thanks for the kind thoughts, everyone. Every single one made me cry though. But then, everything is making me cry.

I’m kind of numb today. Last night I sat down with my Crown and Coke and my quilt, and the combination was appropriately numbing. Not enough that I didn’t wake up in a cold sweat all night, but I hadn’t really expected to get to sleep at all, so there’s that.

And it turns out that I am a fantastic quilter when I’m drunk—tiny, even little stitches, and I hardly notice when I miss and jab my bottom finger. I even managed to not sew my shirt to the quilt.

I’m going to try to stick with the numb today. It’s certainly better than thinking about it directly. I hate that even though my head knows that he’s never coming back, my heart is refusing to fully believe it. “He loves me,” it says, “how could he possibly walk away from that?”

It’s going to take a very long time, during which a tiny part of me will always believe in the back of my mind that we belong together, and things will be OK because, damnit, they should be! And I also know that things will not be OK at the same time.

I’m just going to embrace the schizo for a little while for my own sanity.