It’s all good. I got a really great friend out of the deal. I am NOT going to cry. No need, really. I’d rather have a great friend, a lot of life experience and memories of how it felt to have hope, than nothing at all.

Just don’t look for me to be ready to put my heart on the line again anytime soon. Oh, who am I kidding — my heart doesn’t want to be hidden. It’s free to a good — no, GREAT — home!

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Not a good one, although he did spring it over a VERY nice dinner meant to celebrate me and my goddessness.

It’s not a big deal. I mean, it is to me. But I’ve done worse in my life, no doubt. I just wonder if we’re better off friends. Nah, I’m gonna fight for him. This means that much to me.

I think what’s flipped my shit right now is that the workaholic (and, quite possibly, alcoholic) girl whose only dream in life was to go to Paris, well, has changed. She started wanting marriage and was even thinking a wee bit about babies. OK, maybe more than a wee bit.

Yes, our girl started wanting everything she spent her lifetime fighting against.

I told him maybe I’ll just go back to being a workaholic. Maybe this whole notion of settling down and having it all was a fluke.

A good friend of mine was dating a guy a long time ago, and I remember her saying once that she could see their unborn children in his eyes. I remember chopping off my ponytail and hanging myself with it — thinking, girl, WTF?

I wouldn’t say I saw zygotes swimming in his retinas, by any means. But I do look at my birth control blister pack and think, well, I’ve never wanted to procreate with anyone before but damn, he’d be a good dad … if the way he is with me is any indication of just how big his heart is.

So, I am breaking my silence long enough to freak the fuck out here. And to say that I’ll be OK, no matter what happens next. After all, I’ll always have Paris, even if I’d trade it for a night in New Orleans with him any day. …

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I wanted to tell you that things are different now … I’M different now. I’ve lost a lot of my snark along the way. I rarely say anything salacious anymore. Hell, I can’t tell you the last time I had an, ahem, overnight relationship. Seriously, I’m not the girl you met here, however many years ago when you first landed on this page.

And yet, as I sit here looking at the tangled web of code that some hacker left … I am suddenly ready to pay my friends who unfucked-up this page the last time it got hacked, to unfuck it up again.

I got scared that someone very important to me found this page. I mean, I don’t plan to hide anything from my past. But it’s too soon for him to know SO MUCH of it. Sure I’ve kept a lot offline, but I’ve never been shy about sharing everything in my heart and mind — even if I wasn’t so proud of it.

A part of me wants to use this space to chronicle my life now — and the emotions I can assure you I’ve never felt, along with a WHOLE NEW WORLD of fears and, yes, joys that I never knew existed. Maybe someday. But I know that the happy-happy-joy-joy of today is as fragile as the eggs now being left by nesting sea turtles along carefully preserved areas of our Florida beaches. And I don’t want this blog to ruin yet another job, relationship or anything else that means — or could come to mean — the world to me.

I do miss hearing from all of you. Hit me up on Facebook — that’s where I spend my free time. And I’m thinking of starting a new blog — a professional one — at one of the other domains I own. It’s time I wrote that book that everyone’s asking me about. It’s also time to study for an exam that I don’t need to take but would behoove me to prepare for, to help me in my life’s work. It’s also time to think about a master’s degree or some other certificate program that will get me excited about my career again and, maybe, back to making that great salary I gave up in favor of sanity preservation, not so long ago.

Whatever I end up doing, I’ve got to do SOMETHING. I’ve been tightly guarding my heart, my thoughts, my “everything that makes me, me” for far too long. Yes, I’ve changed a lot — I’ve grown up, finally — but I’ve got a long way to go toward having my shit together. But what I did or didn’t do with my past is of no consequence anymore.

I’ve become the person I’m meant to be. And it’s time to love and honor her. How best to do that, I have no idea. But you’ll know it as soon as I do!

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I need to blather here, so bear with me. Not that anybody should still be reading. But still. It’s my diary and I want to have this memory.

I could ramble about the car. Like, it catching FIRE on 95-North and again on 95-South as I came home. I could bitch about the idiot mechanics keeping it an extra few days to unfuckup their work, only to break something else in the process AND try to sell me new tires. But alas, they fixed it … aaaand the engine light came on the first day I had my car back.

(O HAI crack in the emissions system! *headdesk*)

I could ramble about work. Which is perfectly lovely right now. I’m in a research phase and it’s boring as all get-out. I’m hoping things get a lil’ busier. Which, God likes to grant THAT wish, so I’m not worried.

I could also say that I got dumped on Valentine’s Day … but in kind of a good way. I dumped a guy many years ago on Valentine’s Day and I haven’t had a good one since then. So I’m hoping that getting dumped — by my final freelance client — on Valentine’s Day is exactly what I needed.

Lord knows I am enjoying the extra relaxing and TV-watching I’m doing. And they paid me right away, unlike VaJayJay, VaGina and TwunTina, so hallelujah.

Anyway, I’m also getting up and to work earlier so that I can enjoy the silence before the boys come in for the day. So when I collapse at night, I still feel like I’ve earned the mental vacation every evening.

But what I really want to ramble about? Is that I just had the BEST. FIRST. DATE. EVER. I’m keepin’ the good stuff to myself, of course. But … wow.

I’m making no predictions. No summaries. No wish lists. No ANYTHING that would jinx this.

But I will say this. All these vehicular adventures that are taking years off of my life and could possibly even kill me? (See — Fire: Electrical, at high speeds during a 40-mile-each-way-commute.) Hunh-uh. No way.

Life is just getting good. I plan to stick around for it. For a LONG time.

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Fell in love with two new apartments yesterday. Both are WAY more than I want to pay, but still less than what I AM paying.

Took the Houseguest to see them afterward. She’s “meh” on everything. She says to take time and really look around and think about it.

This is the view from one of the apartments. Lovely, yes?

I’m exhausted. I’m dying. I gave up two freelance jobs. I’m falling down on the job on the last one standing. I’m working my ass off at the full-time job and not getting very far.

The money savings may not be significant (ergo, she’s right, why move?). But to shave something, ANYTHING off that commute? Would save my life.

I’m so stressed out, I’ve tapped into the Freezer Klonopin. I have a bottle I shoved in there from my old Evil Empire days. Haven’t needed them for a year. Now after two solid days of chest pains, well, yeah. Old Klonopin is better than none at all.

Oh, did I mention I have to give notice to my apartment complex on Monday whether I intend to stay?

I hate moving. I hate dragging someone around town who doesn’t want to go. I hate only saving maybe $200 a month after all the aggravation.

But I also hate coming home late every night, falling asleep on the couch, waking up in a PANIC because I didn’t do my freelance work, scrambling to DO said freelance work, and then getting to the real job late. (As if arriving at 8:15 after an hour-long drive should ever be considered late.)

Something’s got to give. And at this rate, it’s going to be me…

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