upd8

 Twenty-two and a half years. I don't know how to properly hyphenate that, and I'm not gonna Google it. 

22.5yrs of inconsistent documentation. Reading back on it is wild. Remembering the relationships I was in, or ending, or mourning.  Remembering private allusions that spark memories now, secrets I've kept this whole damn time. The paradoxical nature of selective confession. Damn, at least I'm still a pretentious fuck - what is this choppy dramatic sentence structure? 

Anyway. 

Life is okay. My husband struggles with alcoholism and severe depression, and it's been a fraught, heartwrenching, isolated few years. We're working on it, and things are maybe actually better for the first time in years. I've been holding my breath so long, hoping to find him some relief and for us to reconnect.  Afraid to let out the shuddering exhale, in case I jinx it by acknowledging it.  Haven't admitted to myself or anyone else how bad it's been, how scared for him I've been, until now.  I'm still afraid to hope, afraid this might not stick, but I'm not giving up. 

My other partner got out of a long-term relationship that ended up being horribly toxic and emotionally abusive, and goddamn I want to commit some crimes against that harpy.  My fist aches to meet her cheek.  But no, I've been the model supportive poly partner, talking zero shit about her and letting him go through breakup at his own pace, offering comfort and distraction and non-judgmental company.  Damn, I want to make her crawl in shame for her behavior.  Anyway.  Over the past couple months, he's started to heal, and it's been such a delight seeing the tension drain from his shoulders, and watching him smile and joke and be goofy, and hearing him open up about his feelings.  So we're warm, comfortable, easy, affectionate, and sweet together.  There's a reason we've been together for six years. 

And then, goddamnit, there's That Guy.  What the fuck happened. It's been almost two years since we reconnected, and things exploded, and now we text all day every day. I just counted. Today we texted back and forth 117 times. AND WE SAW EACH OTHER IN PERSON. Wtf is this crazy codependent nonsense. I've never had a relationship or friendship like this ever. 

Hooboy.  And I still cannot fucking believe who it is.

Yeah. 

Really. 

Anyway! Animals have also been on my mind. Lost Ban kinda suddenly, but he was 13, which is impressive for a giant brindle dinosaur.  I cry when I think about him still. I miss him, my goofy dumb loyal protective scaredycat beast.  He was the definition of a good boy. 

In a grief haze after Pogo died, I adopted a senior pug. Sir Francis Bacon, the weirdest dog I've ever had.  Doesn't emote or communicate much. I struggle to love him with the same openness that I did with his predecessors. We love each other, we just don't understand each other too well. 

And then there's Cecil, because I couldn't stand not having a cat anymore and asked my allergic husband if he'd be willing to try, for my sake. Because I'm selfish. (HEPA filters and the magical allergen-reducing cat food work amazingly though!)  He's a gorgeous animal, and he loves me maybe more than anyone I've ever met. He's always next to me, usually touching me, constantly talking to me, wildly affectionate, and a shameless whore. I love him like crazy, right back. 

Every few months, I talk myself out of adopting a big dog.  We'll see if reason prevails. 

Ok, I think it's bedtime. Insert thing here as reminder to self to explore change in priorities, attachment, how being a therapist has maybe changed me as a person, moving, what now.