...is hard to do.

I should've known it was coming when I suddenly got the urge to clean, which for me can be either extremely therepeutic or extremely aggravating. I felt the need, I think, to reclaim my room of one's own, so to speak, because I'd been spending far too much time at M.'s and it had gone pretty much to shit.

(To the point, as we've seen, where I've failed to notice my rat's to-be-fatal tumour and that my nephew can now inform us "I no seepy!" about half an hour before bedtime like clockwork.)

We were spending a few days apart, mainly out of inconvenience and other plans, and I happened to have those few days off. So I scrubbed. And dusted. And did more laundry than I care to admit was dirty.

Then, on Sunday, I ran into a Certain Boy who I had something of a crush on during second semester. Second semester, however, was a turbulentm time for me, what with the breakdown of the three-year relationship with M., ensuing depressing and oh-my-god-where-will-I-live stress, blossoming bisexuality and a sweet but ill-fated relationship (talk about bad timing).

Anyways. I ran into Certain Boy in a greasy fast-food place. Shortly thereafter, I realised that I was having feelings I hadn't had in a long time and had been trying to convince myself were a trick of my memory.

(No, nothing happened. I gave him my number, but he hasn't called. And even if he does, I'm not sure I'll answer.)

So I broke it off with M. Just now. He took it well.

I told him that I was in a horrible place when we got back together (which I won't go into - that's another story best told after a stiff drink) and shouldn't have been making decisions. I told him that it wasn't him, and that's not a line, it really wasn't - he'd done miraculous things to change those things about him that ruined our relationship in the first place. I was expecting to magically love him again after that, but it doesn't work that way; it had just been too long since I'd seen that side of him. I think I was over him long before it ended.

So here I am, sitting in my room that's already started collecting some clutter. On the floor. Staring at my old engagement ring which I'd taken to wearing around my neck for the past month, and wondering how I'm going to summon up the courage to ask customers tomorrow if they prefer a baguette or croissante with their nicoise. Knowing that I will.