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I don’t actually get called a bitch, because he knows I would rip his throat out. But I’m sure he thinks it from time to time!

Who knows. What he thinks of me is none of my business, as the saying goes. Since I don’t trust his thinking anymore, it’s twofold none of my business.

Still a cold war around here. Not that we’re fighting. Oh no, he’s on what I’ve been calling “best behaviour.” Although I should call it second-best. It could be improved if he’d take his honey-do list seriously.

Just talked to Sadie, who is moving in with her new man and deliriously happy. I’m glad she’s found someone to love who loves her, and hope this “hot hot blaze” won’t “come down in smoke and ash,” as Our Joan says in her song Help Me. Remember how much in love with Fella I was, how good he was to me, how happy we were together? Why does crap seem to be inevitable? It’s disheartening!

She’s invited me to go down for a visit, and also said I’m welcome to go stay at her now-empty house for as long as I want, if I want. She’s coming out on Tuesday so I’ll make a point of going to spend a day with her.

I’m finding that around here Fella and I talk about the daily doings and all, in the normal way, but I feel lonely at times. Why is this any different than the usual? It isn’t, much. It’s just that now I am seeing it more clearly, and am wondering if this is simply the state of humankind — basically we’re alone and lonely and spend much of our lives hiding from that fact — or is it just the way things are in my relationship with Fella and now I have to think about whether I want to spend the rest of my life this way?

Questions, always questions!

I already know the answer to that last one: I don’t.

Otherwise I’m content with the way my life is; that is perhaps why I’m in no hurry to up and change my location. But I am beginning to think about whether I’m making the most of the years I have left, and if I’m not, how to go about it.

Boychik turns 19 on Saturday; am I now officially old? Heh. No, I’ll wait till he turns 20 before I say that. With this line of thinking, Pet, you’ve still got seven years before you can join the crone club.

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