There are a few things in life that continue to make me happy. The best boyfriend in the whole world. Camille, Jory and Tiffa. The screensaver on my dad's computer that displays two mugs of coffee, the wisps of steam rising from them curling about to form the words "Coffee Break". My new purple walls that just insist that there is the scent of lavender somewhere in the room, even if I haven't been burning my incense. The tiny crystal brooch on Alex's costume. The anthropologie catalogue. Jory's Invader Zim patch. The teddy bear on my bed that has gained ancient status, the way that monks do in Terry Pratchett novels. My new story. My newer poems. The bright white of my freshly-painted dresser and desk, still gleaming out in the garage. Keeping colour schemes for Alex's basement in the back corner of my mind, smiling when I think of them. The way my evergreen candle makes me think of snowshoes and breaking through the first crust of a snowfall with a crunch and remembering why pine trees are meant to belong to the wintertime. The fireplace at Alex's, roasting my legs as I listen to the New Age music channel and he sits behind me, finishing his homework, occasionally looking up to smile at me and mouth "I love you".
And I know that it seems selfish, but maybe I don't want to share them with her.
I love all these things, and I don't think she wants me to have any of them.
Have you ever had one of those months where you just feel like a bug?
I'm having one of those.