Half of the time, I am happy and giddy, and feel that what is going on right now in my life is perfect and right and wonderful. Other times, I feel like I am wasting my time, like my heart is breaking, and like crying would be the best option.
I leave Sunday or Monday, I guess. I miss my own bed, my own space, my cats. But I worry that when I leave, I will miss cuddling, and kisses... though these things have already drastically tapered away, leaving me here wondering what I am doing, and thinking that I need to get out before things get too difficult.