I think that the whiplash should be over by now. Of course, it isn’t. And Fiona isn’t fixed. And the insurance company is giving us a hard time. I had hoped that, after all of this and a week and a half of suffering, things would be in order. But apparently, when a dead guy hits you with a stolen car, things get complicated.
ZH is still bugging me about sending money for the car situation and part of me wants to let him. After all, I sent him my soul in letter form. But I am, and always have been, too stubborn for that kind of “gift”. (To me: Charity, to him: Gift). He wants to fix it. Which is lovely, considering that no one has ever bothered to try and “fix” me before. Money though, does not equal love. And I don’t have the need for one so much as the other. Or maybe I do, but don’t like to admit either.
Things are getting better though. I am perfectly happy where I am. The silence and peace are really comforting. There is a fountain outside my window that lulls me to sleep. And there is the peace of mind that comes with being totally independent which is inexplicable. And foreign. And totally blissful.
It is so weird. Even having been physically living alone for the past few months, how much different this is. How much more peaceful I feel. No one has a key to my apartment but me. And no one will. Except probably the Spliffster. But she already resides full-time in my brain, so even when she is here, it is like being alone. Comforting. Honest. Perfect.
I am happy.