The grief feels like a physical weight on my chest. Aside from it literally hurting, I do my best to be fine. I don't talk about it anymore, because I will just end up talking in circles. That's a good way to tell that something is outside your control.
I feel like I appreciate him more now. The everyday goofiness, the simple moments of physical affection, just building up love one gesture at a time - I made my own mistakes and almost lost this before. And when this recent thing happened, me losing my last close friend, I was afraid I'd eventually lose him as well. Well, that's a risk we take, don't we? Then I will just make it a point to appreciate now all the more. Squeezing it for every last bit of warmth before it's time to say goodbye.
He bought a mechanical keyboard with rainbow light to complement the headset, and I feel ~professional~ just typing this out. Another reason to look forward to the rest of the shift. My problem PA may or may not show up, but the paperwork needs to be done, the projects need to be completed, and the rest of my PAs need to be attended to.
I need to make sure I didn't overstep my boundaries with Kay.
No matter what I'm feeling, life goes on. I've kept feeling like a child falling over from running too fast these past few months; I'd cry and nurse my entire being as if a major life threatening event happened to me, I would take medication, and two days later I'd feel fine. It's almost surreal. I'm not even sure if I can keep up identifying with this ego as "me" anymore, and become one of those people who talk about themselves in third person, with the amount of emotional laundry merry-go-round I've been going through.
What is this all leading to?
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