in which there are 30 days, and I am secretly happy

I've been re- reading Lucy M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables series over the past week or so- utterly addictive, joyful books. I has been about 4 years or so since I ran through them. They always have the same effect, even after all these years; the days look brighter for them. There's something to these old books.

I've been happy, oddly happy in a deep- down and deeply private way that I'm reluctant to share. It is all- consuming and keeps me moving away from sharing here or in the real world- this is very much mine. It is spring, and I feel it in my bones- I am only days away from freedom, from home, from realizing a set of dreams, from a break to the left and a whole new set of adventures, this time of my choosing. The sweetness of anticipation only grows each day.

I squirrel myself away, keeping my stash of happy where dirty fingers can't get at it. It seems like something I need to keep a hold of, to keep. A forspecial thing, like my sister used to say. Billy and I talk when we work together- rambling loose daydreams about our futures, about our partners and the homes we are creating with them but otherwise, this is mine. I don't want to let others sully this.

The problem with being in love is that inevitably you line other people up against the standards of your partner, and a good many just don't meet the bar. Being in love- successfully living in that level of honesty and intimacy- it raises one's expectations overall. Perhaps I shouldn't say "you"- I most definitely mean myself here. I don't want that level of closeness with anyone else, but I am spoiled in that I've become used to dealing with to a certain level of courage, honesty, directness and self- possession in my personal relationships.

I'm so tired of other people's emotional incontinence, of their petty little ego problems, of their cover stories and of their needs, which seem incessant, inescapable and sticky. There is no exchange to it- I don't get much in return, and to be honest, I've stopped wanting reciprocation and I've just started looking for freedom. I want to be done with it. Here, work is personal is work is personal is… etc, etc. There is no break, no distinct, one- setting relationship here- no division. I consistently feel as though I'm being asked for far more than I care to give. 

I will be relieved to see the last of this, to put it behind me. There is so much I will miss, but the interpersonal mess, that I can be done with. I look forward to options, and privacy. I look forward to culling, cleansing, and simplifying.

I look forward to all of it, despite occasional twinges of regret over leaving. Mostly, these days, I look forward to my people- all the lovely sweet folks who've made this so much easier than I'd thought it would be. I miss my home, which is all of you, most of all.

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