It's really really quiet here tonight. Kids are finally asleep, after fynn crying for daddy and D getting in trouble at school for not listening all day. Pancakes for supper as there wasn't time in the morning.
It's rather a deafening quiet. Bags gone. Coffee cups all washed and grounds sluiced down the drain.
I don't drink coffee.
He called tonight to let me know that he doesn't, alas, have a phone. At least not one that works, and the number that he gave me was for someone else's house. The woman across the hall does, and she's a coworker, so he borrowed hers to call.
There wasn't really much to say. I got angry that i cried and my voice betrayed it. I don't intend to talk much, I don't want to pull. It's a good thing, dealing alone for awhile.
It really does feel weird that he's telling me about his new apartment though. Like he's moved out. The feeling is mind-numbing if I look at it that way. I'm a drama queen, imagining what could be, mourning things that aren't. I'm morbid that way.
I distracted myself with this tonight. Suitably harlequin-esque and still real.
I looked at this too, which is not for everyone. Portraits of people before and after death. Stunning, moving, and regretful. I'm glad I looked. They weren't morbid to me at all actually.