I'm not supposed to be writing here, you know.
Does that sound as pitiful and melodramatic as I think it does? I didn't intend for it to, but I'm afraid that's how it came out.
Anyway. Trent and I worked some things out. It's a long story and not a particularly good one, but things between us right now are probably the best they've been in a long time. I'm here at his apartment and have been for the last month. I haven't found a job yet, so I stay home, clean house, and make dinner every day. In some ways, I think the domesticity is good for me--it forces me to be "normal," and I think my life is quite balanced at the moment.
When we were trying to figure stuff out, one of the things that came up was this space. He's known about it, you see, and he had said it was okay for me to have it and that it didn't really bother him at all. Apparently, that was not so. It does in fact bother him. And I said that he didn't have to read it, but honestly, that's not exactly fair, is it? If he had something I didn't like and just told me that I didn't have to look at it, I wouldn't feel that the matter was settled.
So. I'm thinking I'll write here occasionally. Not often often or anything. And maybe if I just don't really mention it to him, he won't decide to stop by. Still, when he does, I'll probably feel guilty. He said I could keep this, but I told him I wouldn't, since it bothers him.
Hrm.