It's just the way it goes today.

I dream I am living

I dream I have got to know you

(quite suddenly, quite - unexpectedly, as if that were possible.)

I dream that we love each other

I dream we still love each other

I dream you meet another man

I dream you love him

   but tell him you still want to love me too

I dream he says he understands and we can go on loving each other

(as if that were possible)

I dream he says he finds it difficult

(not quite suddenly and not quite unexpectedly)

I dream you say you will try

   to turn our love into mere friendship

  but that you want still to have that friendship

I dream he says he understands

(as if that were possible)

I dream I have come to terms with this

I dream life goes on, and work

I dream you speak to him about everything

    and he to you about everything

   the way you wanted

I dream he puts up with our friendship

   and that if we are not all dead today

   we still go on living

   happily ever after

(as if that were possible)

It's a little awkward, waiting in a bar to meet someone. It's an arranged meeting and all, don't get me wrong. I don't do loitering to pick up.

Order? Wait? Tonight I'm choosing to wait. We left the time a little ambiguous. The lovely barista has the same haircut as me, but I'm choosing to believe mine looks better. Hers is the color of a latte and I'm espresso, she is dead-straight and fluttering submissively, I'm... kinky and a little subverted.

Strictly talking hair, you realise.

I spent most of today throwing out.

Three years ago hubs and I moved from our parental homes into a mortgage of our own.

Shamefully, the boxes of books (and clothes, and uni papers, and more random crap) in the back room have been whimpering our names all that time. I've finally thrown them (and then some) out into the cold. They're shivering on our verandah awaiting collection by the lovely people at Diabetes Australia. Lots of clothes in garbage bags, too.

All that unpacking and discriminating (chuck? keep? categorise?) was a little scary; I've chosen to relinquish books that linked me to uni; not just class notes and texts, but BOOKS, like A Rebours and Venus in Furs; others I've just accepted I'll never read again, like Red Dragon, and all the old Anne McCafferty and Anne Rices. And then my evening took a strange twist which still has me a little flipped out. It's closure, loud and clear, and a little massage to my ego, and very, very sad all at once.