Oh a topsy turvy few days. From licking wounds to kicking arse (in my head) it's been dizzying. Wednesday back at work was shaky, then it righted itself gloriously in the evening, somehow the hours evened out. I went to the gym, had a long chat with Bud and by Thursday felt like I was boss again.

And then M called. And I did not pass Go and I did not collect 200. I went straight back to jail.
I don't know how to work up the courage to ask him not to call anymore, though maybe me saying it was making everything so much more difficult will get through to him. I know the passing of time is the only thing that will really help, but at the same time I fear it like a bastard. That self destructive little voice that quavers: what if I never see him again?

I even miss cricket.

So this weekend will be another challenge. maybe a solo trip to the Harvest festival in the hills tomorrow, and brunch with Kym et al on Sunday. It's the quiet pockets I need to fill. The silence after I close the door on a visitor. The confronting whoosh of the morning's first breeze when I step onto the balcony.

On an entirely different topic; one of my favourite blogs is All Men Are Liars, by Sam De Brito who write in the SMH. He strikes me as a real human being. Intelligent, but with warts and all that he bravely faces up to. And today I found out his favourite pollie is my Paul. So there.

Let me not mention Amanda Vanstone on Q&A last night. She may call herself a Republican, but I still wouldn't give her time on telly. Really. I didn't watch long enough to form an opinion, the woman pisses me off.

A long long-weekend.

I should have been more careful. This weekend was a long period of waiting for the working week to start again. I can't get comfortable in this new setting. I constantly feel like I'm on holiday, or extended punishment-leave and soon M and I will be together again. But i know we're not. Sleep has been an elusive bastard, hard to catch and even harder to sustain.

But there were glimmers of beauty this weekend as well. Saturday was a particularly good day - I relished all the new things my neighbourhood offers. Continental butcheries ahoy- and cafes and bookshops and other purveyors of danger.

I spent Sunday with Kym, watching The King's Speech and some hilarious Robot Chicken Star Wars special, and also driving around to pet shops in the Maddington area to look at cats. (I know, I know).

So this week, redoubling efforts to get life in order and trying to sleep. And ferreting out decent books to read.

A house in a leafy street in Subi, good friends, amazing food, good wine (first bottle, not the second, despite the funky label) and a relaxed atmosphere switched on the light at the end of the tunnel. And there was laughter and comfort aplenty. (and just quietly, Joe put on Bon Jovi at the end of the night - because I am not ashamed!) :0)

This morning when M called I didn't cry and I am feeling alive, if a little vague from lack of sleep.

One foot in front of the other, and all that. I'll get there...

You can't go around grief apparently, you can only go through. I was on the phone today and a friend said "You sound worse than a few days ago, that surprises me".

Really? The implosion happened less than a week ago - and everywhere I go, shops, parks, beach, traffic lights, there is some aspect of M there. Whether it be leopard print Easter eggs or the last time we sat there or here...my life is still full of him. I miss him so much it's affecting my posture. I feel like I want to hide from myself. Mirrors have become bad things.

I know it will pass, but this dragging loneliness where I'm not good at being with people but nor am I any good anymore being by myself is a bit irritating. There have been a lot of tears. My eyes have aged in the last few days.

But good things are that I'm not drinking like a fish. Not drinking at all really, last weekend was enough. And last night when Evi offered me a ciggie, I didn't even feel tempted.

I need backup
I need company
I need to be inspired.

Or something...

Corkscrew

Evi came over yesterday armed with a bottle of wine and a three pack of Johnny Depp DVDs. But the wine was not screwtop, and I don't have a corkscrew, as it turns out. I was reminded of the first dinner Mum and I hosted after dad left, when Kate came over and we looked at the wine then, and ended up taking it to the next door neighbour's house for male help. This time, Evi put a wooden spoon handle on the cork and pushed, while I held the bottle. Red wine sprayed everywhere, including into my eyes, which stung like buggery but we laughed and laughed while mopping at the whitewashed redspeckled walls. I've put a waiter's friend on my shopping list. But we sat on the balcony drinking red wine from champagne flutes (red wine glasses also on shopping list) and talked and smoked and cried a little bit and it was good. Really really good. Letting go is hurting like a bastard but I'm hanging in there.

The gum trees on Loftus were stark white against the stormy western sky and Perth glowered at me in a tired, still morning. I slept at the new place for the first time last night, and worked through a few more layers of filth and packing boxes. It is shaping up, but it's a compromise. I made the bed and showered and drifted off to sleep to Philip Adams' voice, soothing and full of benevolence. I can't bear silence. This morning, as mornings always are, was better and I sat with my mug of Paul on the balcony and tried to stay positive. But it's hard and my heart is broken. When we spoke yesterday night the distance between us was not just the 1200km's but an increasingly un-crossable gulf opening up. I bought a doona and pillows and toilet brush and cutlery and made carrot and coriander soup, which I was then too tired to eat but it will be great for dinner today. The red fingernails at least would not take much explaining today. So, to new beginnings. New neighbourhood, new Perth resident. Nestled again in the crook of my city's arm. Here's to hope!