the slow climb
Things are much better, and they have been for the last three days. After I wrote Thursday's entry, the Boy & I had another cycle of intense argument, which culminated in the Boy deciding to try and trust me a little bit. The last few days have been good, because we've both been trying to get along. Now that I don't feel a big suffocating weight sitting on my shoulders, I'm even being affectionate. Or, rather: I'm letting myself be affectionate and he is letting himself be the object of that affection. That's good.
Talked to Dirk on Thursday night (the wax moustachers conversation), and he was the first person in all of this to tell me flat out that there was no way that the Boy didn't or couldn't love me so suddenly. That helped, as did Mason's continual efforts to take care of me at work (where it is paramount that I hit the ground running in every class. No time for aching sorrow.) We also got to knit together twice this week, which was more cause for celebration. I may even be done something soon.
The Gorgeous Ladies of Knitting convened around me yesterday (or maybe it was just September Drunken Knitting), offering support of all kinds. Jendricks, as always, had the most memorable advice: "if it doesn’t work, kick him to the curb, 'cause you're perfect." Which is warming and strengthening to hear, even if I don't intend to do it. Another excellent social event, made better by the love and advice of my knitsibs. Blessed doesn't begin to cover it.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*