Our Lady of Perpetual Hell

No screenings yesterday. Spent the day helping Frank pack his apartment in (short) advance of his move back home to Halifax. I could be a lot more honest and open about this if I knew he weren’t reading this blog.

Seriously, I didn’t mind doing it–in fact, it felt good to help a friend (as it always does, duh). Plus, helping him saved me the hell of dealing with a shitload of guilt if I hadn’t. So he wins and I win and the Forces Of Good win.

Now, where did I put my fucking halo?!

I am mostly just trying to not sob my eyes out–and I am failing miserably right now as I type this–over the thought of him leaving. I am closer to Frank than I am to most people. I have spent the past few months since he told me he was leaving trying my damndest to not think about tomorrow. I’ve had great success up ’til now.

He’s done this to me before, y’know. Back in the late 80s, he left Tronna for home and I was a fucking emotional mess. I like to think that I am better equipped to deal with it now–a lot in me has changed since those Bad Ol’ Days–but I must confess my heart still feels like somebody is squeezing it mercilessly.

My world feels small today.