a month ago yesterday, i was ambling about in prospect park with snow gently falling all around me, scarcely a care in the world. i had work, albeit low-paying counter work, that left me feeling satisfied and connected. i had romance, a rather unexpected turn of events following new year's celebrations. i found myself crying, from hope and promise.

yesterday, i was curled up in a ball watching buffy. granted, it was 'the body', probably the most painful, gut-wrenching hour of television ever produced. the work is gone, a victim of the sour economy and sky-high rents, replaced by a 9-5 office gig that requires sustained effort to keep myself turned off all day, leaving me feeling dissatisfied and disconnected. the romance is gone, replaced by genuine yet tentative stabs at salvaging the underlying friendship. i found myself sobbing, in disappointment.

it's not like i haven't been in this place before in the last eighteen months. frightened, desperate, unhinged, convinced that i've ruined my life. what i AM doing is hanging on. and changing my focus. to me. saying this feels awkward, self-indulgent. no more taking responsibility for other people's feelings. no more modulating myself to suit the needs, wishes, desires of others. no more making excuses for the actions or inactions of others.

it might be a tad messy. i'm certain to make some mistakes, say the wrong thing, upset sensibilities. but i'll say what i mean and mean what i say. and i'll know that you understand when i'm not met with anger or fear or indignance but two simple words: thank you.