Reality

Last night, I drove back to Boston after a weekend of couch-lounging, storage box sorting, and general slackerdom.

I dropped her off, and then headed back to Cleveland Circle in Brookline to grab a dinner burrito at Boloco. (because I don't eat there enough during my workweek already). Munched it down, gave Erich a call on my cell, checked my messages (one from from Friday... *sigh* no, I'm horrid with my cell phone), texted her back, cranked my "dance mix" on my iPod, and started to head home.

By taking a right back onto Chestnut Hill Ave, and then a right onto Comm Ave.

No idea why - but that just felt like the right way. Okay. I recognize those weird little "don't know why..." thoughts, and entertained them.

Windows down, music thumping, I drove my way down Comm Ave - swinging by the old apartment on Egremont. Then I continued back down Comm Ave., passing by Hamilton House Hell - now private apartments instead of a BU dorm. Through campus- where life was VERY active with the students who had just returned this weekend. Then by Warren Towers, where I spent two odd dorm years. Through Kenmore Square, which looks nothing like it did when I was a student. Down through the back swing of the Fenway, to St. Botolph Street, to the dead end street, and I stopped...

Got out of the car, and looked up at The Beast for just a bit.

The lights weren't on, but there are colorful drapes in the windows. And there was a cat, resembling how Colley would sprawl, enjoying the beautiful evening weather in the kitchenette window.

And that's where I lost it. Really, honest to god lost it. I sat on the wall where I'd brought Colley so many times to explore outside, and released them.

Holy crap, I'm getting married. Three weeks from today, I will be married, starting a new life (which isn't much different than my current life, yet I know it'll be entirely different). The crying, the depression, the loneliness, the thoughts of ending everything in that one room apartment - all in the past. So far in the past, so foreign.

If you'd asked me seven, eight, nine years ago that I'd have sat there last night, staring up at that three-windowed apartment with a little fear, a little melancholy, a little pride, and then a really fucking huge smile, I'd have laughed insanely at you and told you off. I was the one who would never find someone. I was doomed to be a miserable nerd loner for the rest of my life.

It's a bit overwhelming, honestly.