Time

Is helping.

The passing of it is like a body of water, gently sloughing off the hard edgy bits of my memory. I still pull myself up, often catching myself going over and over a particular scene, or remembered tid-bit that hurts like hell, but then I'll stop and shake my head free of the thought and concentrate really hard on something else. (The BBC's My Music radio show for example) Often I'll shake my head and say "Stop it now" out loud, even when I'm on the street, or here at work. I'm a little bit crazy but I'm definitely getting better.

I am learning not to count the days since the last kiss and to stop asking myself: "I wonder if that was the last one ever?"
I am learning not to re-read old text messages or look at old photos or - and I know this is loco - listen to an old voicemail just to hear his voice say "Macska" again.

When was the last time I cried? You know it may have been as long as a week ago.

On the weekend I had a mad bout of cleaning, giving the balcony walls a good dose of domestos so they gleam white in the autumn sun. Washing the windows so thoroughly turned out to be more a curse than a blessing as yesterday morning I walked straight into the closed glass door. And no, unlike at Nick's party way back when, this time I wasn't zonked on Strongbow (and Mr Apted's moustache). Enough said.

I am amazed, again and again at the wonderful people I work with. Offering words and books and music and random invites for weekend visits. I bless them all.

And I am developing a definite social life. Dinners and cocktails and exhibition openings and warm soup lunches. I feel like I am metaphorically straightening my collar (and it must be metaphorically because Jules isn't here to do it for me) and breathing out: I will be okay.