Pass the tissues, please.

My head hurts. I’m unsure if it’s from the couple of daiquiris last night or the copious weeping that occurred. Either way, I’m not feeling particularly well this morning, though Excedrin and coffee are beginning to help.

“I might cry,” I warned Friend when she walked in yesterday evening. Everything is different, I thought as I wiped at tears. I clipped back the branches of the schefflara so that it would be easier to move and it’s all choppy and ugly now. There are boxes and bags and dust – so very much dust – everywhere. I’m slowly moving things to the garage, leaving the rooms much less cluttered. But the absence of normality is becoming glaring. I’m very comforted by my possessions and as I carefully pack them away, I start to miss them. And life feels awkward and wrong.

“I’ll go with you,” I said softly and walked quietly behind Friend as she drove my car to get take-out. Chienne rode in the backseat – earning her two pork shoulders from the barbeque place – and we returned home. I had another drink instead of food and tried to explain why I was so very distraught.

“When I look at houses online,” I said and had to stop to gulp back sobs. I turned my gaze to the corner of room – where the ceiling meets the wall – and blinked and breathed. What I thought – but couldn’t say because the mental wanderings made me cry more – was that I’m looking at small cottages. A couple of bedrooms, perhaps two bathrooms and a basement for storage. I don’t need much space, I told the realtor in our initial (and only, thus far) conversation. I’d like a fireplace with a switch and a whirlpool bathtub, I thought dreamily, but in terms of square footage? I don’t need a whole lot. A yard for the dog – one that’s fenced already would be good – and lots of windows to let light in for the plants.

“I, um,” I tried again as Friend sat patiently across the room. “I guess I’m looking at the chances that I’ll end up with someone – have something real and valid – and understanding that it’s unlikely. That it’s just going to be me.”

She didn’t speak, looking at me with perfectly kind sympathy, and I stood to get a box of Kleenex. “The idea that I won’t get married and have children of my own makes getting to know the girls seem important. If I don’t have a family of my own, I should focus on loving the one my parents and brother made.” She nodded with understanding and I blew my nose.

I choked on a laugh when she assumed I’d been looking at houses up north rather than out west. “I’m too afraid to even glance at housing prices in California,” I confirmed. I expect I’ll think the coast is exquisite and understand why it's expensive to live out there. But I also think it won’t feel anything like home.

“I don’t know what I want,” I told Friend and she said she understood. “And even if I did, I don’t think I can get it.”

“Evidence seems to indicate otherwise,” she offered. “Since Drug Company appears to only be interviewing you and jumping through some hoops to do so.”

“I don’t know why though.”

“Because you’re good at your job? Have trained to do something exactly like what they need done?”

“I organized CDs and emailed files,” I reminded her dryly and she shook her head at me and said they’d now seen my CV. I comforted myself for a moment while thinking about how fast they’d moved, how flattered I was by their interest and how odd this all seemed.

“I got an email – one of those automated ones?” I told Friend with a shake of my head. “It thanked me for my interest and said that due to the high number of applications, I might not hear back from them unless my qualifications matched the job for which I applied. But I didn’t apply – someone else entered in my CV,” I breathed, thinking that was impossibly cool. “So I’m not even working to get behind the HR wall. They’re inviting me through the door and making sure the trip works for me and I’m wondering what’s wrong with them that makes them want me.” Which is typical – when I get something I’ve wanted, I often wonder what flaw put it in my hands. That’s not a good personality trait.

“When she called – one of these times – my contact asked, rather haltingly, whether she should be looking into spousal hiring programs. And I smiled and wondered if it was OK for her to ask that, but replied that it was just me.” My smile faded at the memory and I wiped new tears on my fingers. “It’s always just me.” I paused for a moment, sniffling, and blinked a couple times. “Hey! I could have asked for a job for you!” I exclaimed and mustered a weak smile.

“We could get married out there,” Friend agreed. “Oh! Can you videotape it when you tell your parents? I’d love to see that.”

I smiled and sighed. I don’t have romantic feelings toward Friend – not even a little. So we thought for a moment that it was kind of a shame we weren’t lesbians. “I’m not going to find a man to love me,” I whispered to her. “I can’t even find one to be my friend for very long. That makes me sad.”

“I know,” she said soothingly. “But you can still find someone. Don’t rule things out.”

“I’ll try,” I promised, knowing it’s something I’ll have to give one more shot before calling it over. “I’m just really sad.” I went to bed shortly thereafter, trying to read for a little while on a bed in the office. I breathed a sigh of pure relief when I heard Friend on the phone in the living room and grabbed a blanket to join her. I curled into a ball on one side of the couch, putting my head on the cushion propped between us.

She touched the crown of my head while I cried some more, and I wiped still more tears from eyes that were starting to sting. I listened to her talk science with her roommate, tuning out the words and taking comfort in her voice. I’ll miss you so much, I wanted to wail, but wept slowly and softly instead. I finally grew tired enough to sleep and we went to our separate bedrooms, me with a large hound, she with a pretty cat. I woke at 4 to realize my head and heart continued to hurt and emailed a corrected CV to the drug company as requested.

I don’t know what it is, honestly. I’m overwhelmed and conflicted, though I know the circumstances don’t really require such an emotional response. It’s just that things are changing and I’m scared. It’s times like this that I feel very, very alone and tend to react to that by shoving people away so I can wallow. I reminded myself not to become overly self-destructive while I washed dishes this morning. And I’m continuing to take antidepressants and I’m honestly not drinking much at all (in case anyone’s concerned). I’ll do well on the interview – I’m not worried about performance so much as what the hell I’ll do if they make a good offer.

So I’ll struggle and cry a lot. I’ll also revise those papers Boss finally read and talk to him tomorrow about job stuff. I’m having a massage and facial tomorrow at the spa – I scheduled them yesterday and have no plans to cancel that appointment. Friend will be around when I need to talk and she offered to hold my hand when I cried too hard last night. I realize I’m uselessly tormenting myself – it’s just what I do. I’ll come out of it soon, I’m sure. But until then, I can highly recommend the ultra-soft Kleenex. The box isn’t pretty, but the product is fantastic.