A
rollercoaster, again. Everything goes from the
pit of your stomach to the
top of your throat, and gets caught somewhere in the middle,
again and
again and
again.
I broke up with
Jes. I cried, and I wept, and I
left. I was in no shape to listen to anything she had to say. It was only later, over
coffee, where we had a calm, rational discussion, did I think better of it. We are once again a
unit. This time, we’ve promised to actually talk,
cut the bullshit, and make things
work.
Once more.
...
I’ve finally gotten a
paycheque from work, although that joy is offset by the fact my
bank claims that I deposited a few hundred dollars worth of bogus cheques. As they failed to update my
mailing address, the cancelled cheques are being sent to my former address in
Toronto, so I will have no way of checking exactly what the issue is. I imagine someone owes me for them, but damned if I know who.
In any case, the pay is a boon. I might spend some of it on a trip to Toronto, as
Paul Van Dyk is doing a set on the tenth of
February, and I’d like to be there. The rest needs to go against paying off this newly discovered debt. Having a negative balance with a bank does not do well for one’s
credit ratings.
...
Emotions are still high, I find myself very easily agitated and high-strung. Things don’t slide off me well, not at the moment.
It will pass, though, all extremes pass, given a proper
timeframe.
...
I have to allow myself my
freedoms. I have to stop restricting my wants, needs, desires and dreams. I need to stop telling myself that things are
unrealistic, that what I want is
unattainable.
I still dream of Europe.