If grief is accepting my new reality:

It’s Friday night, I’m watching a B movie, next to a space heater, fighting to stay awake at 19h30, and one of the dogs comes to check on me from time to time.

The worst part, is that this is the easy part. This is the time where little is expected of me. All I have to do is prepare for my time in Africa.

When I’m back, the real work starts, like finalizing the move, flying to Montreal to pick up Maggie, finish everything. Oh, and find a job, be focused at work, and rebuild my life, and all that.

My new reality is alone. I was used to alone. I did alone even in my previous relationships. Then I got used to not alone.

I know, I’ll survive. I’ll ger through it. Blah, blah, blah.