After a year like this one
I’m surprised I do not hate your guts
And, after a year like this one
I’m surprised I still love music just as much
After a year like this one
I’m surprised I did not eat my arm
And, after a year like this one
I’m sorry if I’m not cordial to everyone
After a year like this one
I’m surprised I am convinced at all
And, after a year like this one
I do not roll my eyes at the cynical
And, after a year like this one
I can’t help wonder how they’ve been
After a year like this one
I think I’ll leave it all to my next-of-kin
After a year like this one
I’m surprised we’re all not raving drunks and
After a year like this one
I want you to choose the restaurant
After a year like this one
I’ll need a good whole 16 months alone and
After a year like this one
I think I’ll make the west coast beaches my new home
* * * * *
okay, first off, i do hate his guts. but anyone in my sitch would, so… moving on; i am surprised that i still love music as much as i do. he got so possessive of any songs that could be or “should” be his or “ours” that i started to not want to listen anymore. thank god i got over that. i love music. it moves me. it warms me. but i will not be cordial to everyone (hey, i’m not the biotch for reasons unfounded. i speak my mind now whenever possible). and i am cynical, too, sometimes to a fault – instead of that fakey shiny-happy optimism, so i give ear to the cynical and either agree or explain why not; why they could be wrong. why optimism may just be the better approach. i do on occasion wonder about those that i left behind, in my old life. those that didn’t push me away, how they are, what they’re doing. but only sometimes. because i’m sure they’re fine. and if they aren’t, they have their own support system now. and i’m sure they’re doing whatever it is they need to/want to/should be doing. because life goes on. as has mine.
and i love letting him pick the restaurants. going out for the occasional drink and not even giving pause to thoughts such as ‘i hope he doesn’t drink too much’ or worse, ‘i hope i don’t.’ because we never do – not in the same sense of too much. not in ways that lead to anger and hurt and disappointment. new, better versions of too much generally include laughing fits, extreme tiredness and sleeping in the next day. and i don’t need the next sixteen months alone, because instead i am looking forward to the next unknown number of months together, i am excited to once again think about the west coast as home. it has been, in my heart. but after a year like this one – one in which just this time last year i would have considered someplace completely different, like boston, just to start over and have a new life – instead the dust has settled and i am where i belong and we’ve already visited home once for the first time in over a decade. and i am happy.
i am so happy.