I Should Be Doing Homework

by

But I have done so much already today that I am taking a break.

I was actually just working on something now and it became very clear that I am at the end of my capacity for work today.

Granted it was not homework for my PhD.

It was homework for my private practice internship.

Said private practice internship which begins in eleven days.

Well, technically twelve.

I don’t have a client scheduled for the first day of October, but I do for the second and my lease and paying rent on said lease begin on the first.

Speaking of rent.

I am completely done.

Done.

Done.

Done.

I turned in the keys to my old in-law tonight and got the other half of the buyout monies.

I was so relieved.

It was uncomfortable, but not horrible, I could tell there were many things being left unsaid, especially by the grumbling way everything was said, but I didn’t care, I had the check, the keys were out of my hands, done and done and get me the fuck out of there.

The relief was so big I started to cry on my drive home.

Home.

I am home.

It’s nice to be here.

It’s official.

I mean.

It’s been official for a few days.

But tonight, it feels really official.

And I have a chicken roasting in the oven as I type.

Not that I plan on eating it tonight.

I already had dinner, cereal with an apple and a persimmon, but I wanted to cook, I felt it called for it, and making a roast chicken is easy and a pot of rice to go with it and I won’t have to think about cooking for a few days and dinner for the weekend won’t consist of me eating cereal.

Last night I ate out in the Judah and 44th neighborhood as I went over to clean the in-law after I got done with work.

I will add that the landlady begrudgingly admitted that the in-law was far cleaner than she suspected I would leave it.  I think she was rather surprised and though there were a few moments when I just wanted to say fuck all of this, I was totally committed to leaving things well and so I did.

I will get my damage deposit sans some monies for taking care of patching some holes from nails in the wall, which I knew would happen so not concerned, back pretty much intact.

Which is what I wanted.

And it’s done.

I am really quite happy to be moving on from this.

It was exhausting dealing with it all and stressful and anxiety ridden and I don’t know that I slept all that well in that space for the last few months.

Especially in comparison to how I have slept the last few nights, sound and tight and deep and sweet.

The moon kissed me awake last night though, shining through the back window on my face.

I thought of you, dearest.

I think of you often and wish I could reach out to you.

I know I can’t but it took all my efforts to leave you be tonight when I was driving home, driving home elated and relieved and grateful that I got through it all and wishing I could pick up the phone and tell you all about it.

You were the first person I called when things went south.

You are always the first person I want to tell things to.

I know that’s not for now.

But I hope that you felt it, my joy at the release from the situation, the shutting of the door and moving forward, the handing over the keys and lessening the load.

I hope that somewhere in your heart you know how very important all your support was to me during this time, even when you couldn’t support me more I knew how much you wanted me to be safe and happy.

I’m safe.

I’m happy.

I would be happier with you, I won’t lie, I believe that to be true, but I am also happy to be in a place I can truly call mine, with a signed lease and rights that I know and can advocate for.

Sigh.

So many things to tell you dearest.

I wrote you another letter in the notebook I keep for such times.

It makes it easier to write them down, the desires to talk with you, sometimes I will call someone else to get through it, but tonight, I knew it was just time to write you another letter.

A letter, maybe, perchance, you will one day read.

I do believe that’s possible.

I do have faith.

Love is love is love and our love has not died or gone away.

It’s just up on a shelf for a little while.

And sometimes I have to take it down and shake it a little, like a snow globe from Georgetown in the winter where the trees are dark and wet and the grey Potomac rolls smoothly by whilst you and I in a cozy restaurant listen to music that swells the heart and creates memories that I hold forever close in my hands, like your face, the last time I saw you.

Your face in my hands.

You still have my heart, my dear, please be gentle with it.

And be gentle with you.

I love you so.

And you’d have been proud of me tonight.

You really would have.

It’s done now.

I can move on.

At least in the sense of creating a new life in a new space.

I have not moved on from you.

I doubt I ever will.

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