I hate how empty things are when he's gone. He is so full of life and energy, there's hardly time to think or breathe, just go go go. And I hate it. I told him this time, as I found myself rushing to get ready to go yet again somewhere, that somebody like me needed plans and schedules. He doesn't know the meaning of "plan" or schedule".

Then he's gone and it takes days for me to recover. And I miss him already. 

I have so much to do in this apartment. I need a list. I need more space. I need to throw some things away.

Bedroom first. Means laundry. Means finding space for clothes. Means getting rid of clothes.

Maybe the bathroom first. Then I might be able to find the one set of pain pills I'm missing. That would be the wisest thing to do.

I think we can safely say SanFranMan has seen, and heard me at my worst. Between losing the pain meds for about 36 hours, and PMS... dear lions burning in hell. Couldn't have been any worse. I blush in shame even. I thought I needed to go to the hospital cause if I ever found those goddamn pills, I was going to take EVERY ONE of them, just to never feel such pain again. Think sunburn, pins and needles, hitting your funny bone, waking up a sleeping limb pain. It hurt to move my hair.