2013: The Year of Goodbye

I am not a superstitious person by any means (except when someone jinxes my blood draws at work by exclaiming how LARGE a vein is; thus causing it to miraculously retreat into the body or blow on contact) but 2013 has absolutely been the worst year. EVER.  The number 13 and I have always been on good terms, but lately I wish those bastardly digits would just realize that enough is enough and stop messing with my life.

Things are supposed to be looking up and up and up.  I've finally gotten out of perpetual student mode and am working at a career I love (despite coming home nights covered in cat scratches and anal gland juice).  I love my coworkers, and despite my anxieties, they seem to enjoy me too. Well, they let me keep coming back, at any rate.  I've made some nice friendships in this city, lost a bit of weight, and all the hair I foolishly chopped off 3 (frigging!) years ago has finally regrown. Yessir, everything should be on the up-and-up.

 

(Behold, the worst decision of my hair's life)

But what do you do when the constants in your life that keep you sane suddenly disappear?

Losing Gryphon was a major kick right in the heart. Enough said. The morning after the euthanasia I poured two bowls of food (one for each dog) just like I had for years, then bawled on the kitchen floor while Bruin stood there looking mildly apprehensive (I think he was deciding if it was safe to edge around the crazy lady and eat his breakfast). Things have gotten much better; I get by with my pictures and talismans (my key-shaped ash pendant and paw print tattoo), and stories that mostly begin like: Remember that time Gryphon barked at/humped/chased/threw up on/etc. etc...

Damn, I miss that dog.

Sadly, Gryphon is not going to be the only best friend I lose this year.  

The beginning of a relationship is so goddamn wonderful; I wish we had the technology to freeze that phase and make it last forever.  Nik and I were all kinds of awesome.  We dated long distance for nearly a year with monthly visits, and finally moved in together in a new city. We quoted the same movies, we played the same video games (I was a tank and he was my healer), we held hands in the car, we made up voices for the pets and laughed at each others lame jokes.  We were so in sync with each other that our friends were nauseated.  I drifted through life with the calm certainty that I never had to worry: I had found THE ONE.  

Look at these smug douchebags. Happy as fuck.

 

But as the years went by things became strained without either of us really noticing.  Playful and witty repartee dwindled into fights about money, whose turn it was it scrape the furry leftovers out of the tupperware in the fridge, did you REALLY have to bring six dirty kittens home from work, why do you have to play so many video games...and so on and so on.

Suddenly it wasn't fun anymore. We began socializing apart. I escaped our troubles by sleeping, he escaped them by playing on the computer.  Everything the other one did became annoying.  The fighting and name calling increased to a level that was beneath both of us.

To sum it up: Nik is a nice person. I am a nice person. Together we are not nice people.  We are not a successful couple. Somewhere along the line we failed and our relationship does not work. We are going to move into separate places this summer and see what some space does for us.  

For the first time, well, EVER, I am going to live alone. I'm going to have to take care of myself. I am so goddamned scared.

While it was me who broached the idea of a separation, and I know it is the right thing to do, I cannot stop crying.  Like, something-is-broken-inside crying. How do people do this?

I love you, Nik. And I am sorry.  Please don't ever stop being my best friend.