T minus total fucking breakdown

I still haven’t talked to my dad… I can’t recover the data on my old hard drive, meaning pictures, documents, two fucking manuscripts… The weight of things left to do is so heavy I can barely function at work, and the busiest time of the year is looming. I try to buy as much stuff as I can, try not to forget anything and it driving me to obsessive list making. Haven’t started packing here… Although I won’t take much with me except for my clothes and my books. I’m all calm and cool with the kids when inside I’m nearing insanity. Can’t sleep, can’t wake up in the morning. Food is bland, time eludes me, stop signs invisible. It’s a miracle I remember to shower in the morning.

Through all this, I fight sudden nostalgia attacks, surges of fear, loneliness, islolation within my house. I’m afraid I’ll miss him. Miss his cooking. Or when he plays guitar in the living room downstairs with our daughter. When I hear him play hockey in the street with our son. His laugh. His smell. But all temporary… Fleeting. Because so much I will not miss, unfortunately. He is the perfect provider, strong, reponsible, loving father. It was never about all this. And it’s not about all this that I am the one leaving.

What I will miss the most, what I have been missing for many years, and still do… Is his love.

And so… in the next two weeks I will play with the thin thread of reason I have left to make everything happen, to make everything work and  this will culminate in me leaving a man I still love, will always love.

Not much writing till then. Living though… If I could only remember to breath.