I know, I know, it's barely March.
But after losing my dog, going through regular old-fashioned heartbreak, and now having my apartment broken into, it's hard to feel safe and warm and happy.
And even my cheer-up shopping trip ended in this:
It was only the second time I'd worn it and no, I didn't snag it on anything. It just happened.
There are bright sides, of course. There's fun, there are new people, there are a ton of "at leasts." At least I had my brand new laptop with me at school when they broke in. At least I hadn't popped home for that shower like I was debating. At least the chain of my favourite necklace (most value both in fact and in sentiment) broke last winter and so was safely in Ontario, waiting for repair. At least I've moved away from home before. At least I've lost friends and people before. At least I know I have myself through all of it.
But still. There are reasons I miss the people I miss, and reasons I love the people I love. The best of new friends and lofty aspirations can't replace them, or help me forget that it's the old best friends, the family, the dog and the boyfriend, the instruments, the boardgames, the house I grew up in, laughter and hugs and above all the security and love of home that I need right now.
Time is passing. I'm getting things done. Good things still loom on the horizon. And I'm coping. But I'm only coping.