I'm only leaving in, ohhh two weeks?

I'm so good at leaving things to the last minute, it's really not too clever of me.

The Gaffer is gone now, took him to the airport yesterday. I managed not to cry at the airport. I cried a little in the car on the way home, then made Helen go for lunch with me while I binged on fettucini alfredo with chicken.

He left me Mooka, his little stuffed monkey, to keep me company. Which I thought was exceedingly sweet.

I'm such a cheeseball. I was at a going away party last night, a little on the drinky side of the fence, and there was a magic 8 ball.

I asked it if he loved me:
Without a Doubt
I asked it if we'd end up together in April:
Yes, Definitely.

I didn't jinx it by asking more questions. How five-year-old is that?

I guess I revert to childish things when I'm hurty. It was nice to see some old friends at that party though, do some catching up, get some loving and hugging and food and wine.

I almost didn't go, and that would have been foolish. I would have spent the night at home missing the Gaff and feeling sad. The month away from him is going to be exceedingly healthy, somewhat cathartic for both of us, and a great big rest. It's out of my hands now, and off into the universe. Whether or not it comes back to me, it's not for me to decide.

I'm going to try to be healthy about this.