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Well, everything's kind of hit the fan over the last few months. I've just moved to Louisville, attending U of L, and I've just split with my finace. It's sad times, indeed. Every day feels like I'm just searching for a way to fill space until it's time to go to bed.

I've found one bit of solace I'd like to share: therapy poetry. I know I've harped on this in the OP/L many times, but please note I didn't say you needed to share your therapy poetry. I'm keeping mine to myself. All the stress of living and the heartbroken moments are inspiring. I'm trying--and you should, too--to make the best of the worst. Create from destruction. Give credence to the unexplainable.

I'm not saying anything you don't already know, if you're a writer. Anyway.

Yesterday, I spent a whole hour and fifteen minutes, during my fiction writing class, and didn't think of my ex a single time. It was the best hour and a quarter I've had in a while. It makes me sad to admit it. She still wants to be friends, but I can't find a way to deal with the fact she has feelings for someone else. It's hard letting go, so I had to tell her last night I didn't want to be around her for a while. Mean, in a way, but just a drop in the bucket.

Hell. I have no idea why I'm acting like I'm going to keep a journal. It irritates me talking to no one.