I have two anniversaries today. One is my two year anniversary of dating my boyfriend. The other is the five year anniversary of the death of my father. Sort of an odd couple when you consider the fact I treat them both as celebrations, one terribly bitter and the other just peachy.

I have moved into my boyfriend's rental house, and he has left on a motorcycle journey across the country. He's going just to go, and I miss him, but I don't cry myself to sleep at night. It's as if that whole wrenching stabbing pain of being away from someone that I used to have before being medicated has been lifted away. I feel less dysfunctional. Instead of moping around the house, I have been constructive. Balancing the checkbook, figuring out how many quilts I'll have to make for the explosion of births that is about to happen around me, hanging laundry out on the clothesline since the dryer doesn't work right. I don't feel terrible about anything right now, but I don't feel particularly good either.