I think I might finally want to talk about the last six months.
The monster hangover on thursday left me tender and raw, and fluttery; poor Mark ended up with me wibbling at him by email for hours (he was a brick, as ever) - and last night I couldn't cope with being around all of the lovely happy drinking people from work. Booze - the uptight english girl's way of dealing with complex problems.
This friday last year - technically, today is the anniversary - was the day that I got engaged.
The hardest thing has been coming to terms with the fact that my future has now changed so radically. I was really caught off guard when Sarah proposed - if I'm honest, it felt rushed, but I went with it as underneath I was sure it was the right choice. So, whilst jumping in with both feet, enthusiastically, it took me a while to realise that this was a lovely permanent thing and that I could let go of my habitual fear of abandonment. Which I did. Yay me. Maybe that made me complacent?
Anyway, I've had to adjust from planning for a family, to planning how I'm going to go about dating without bringing along a small pantechnicon of baggage. Shit, here again. Ah well. Tried. Failed better.
In retrospect, the security and comfort of the relationship subtly twisted it from that of lovers to that of friends.
There's a Rogers and Hart song that always plays through my head at these times - and yes, imagine that in the classic 'old gramophone playing in dusty, abandoned house' trope. I am nothing if not melodramatic.
Sarah and I are now talking - and appear to be remaining close. I'm not sure if that's 'right' and it certainly feels strange; after the six months of barely being able to communicate, and casual emotional cruelty on both sides we haven't quite found the right register for conversations. We're exchanging recipes, and internet tips. There was a brief conversation that kicked off with 'I miss you' - from her, not me. Luckily, it's in the 'as a person who bumbles around the flat and is useful when you have questions' way, and not in the 'I am about to put you through a nauseating emotional wringer just when your life is moving on' way. Phew.
She's seeing a boy now. Apparently, he likes being zipped in to bodybags and pissed on.
I find this inexplicably cheering.