Mend Again

Well, here we go again. I've just started a new job in editing and a lot of design. It's Day Two so far and things are looking good,I'm reading alot, checking out design sites, and looking for undiscovered local talent.
I like the people here with their wacky sense of humour; I have a little booth that I can't wait to decorate with my favourite posters, photos of my friends, t-shirt slogans, cartoons....
I want to be here a year from now, if they can take me, and if I can take them.

Still, the same problems prevail: I'm still broke, I still have a credit card bill to pay, and I still can't afford all the sushi meals, expensive lamps and pointless summer tops I am craving.
I'm avoiding all shoe stores on purpose.

I'm still very happy despite my general theory that you can only be happy for so long before the shit starts to fly, but nothing's hit the fan yet, the boy continues to love me, and that's great.
But perhaps the shit will fly once he leaves for Montreal, which is looking more and more like this September or sooner.

Now this is where my inner cynic jumps in and asks "if you can't handle a few days without him, how will you handle a year?"

That question goes unanswered.

so I remind myself that I have my friends, who will love me and wash my face for me when I'm done crying myself sick, they will take me out dancing and buy me inspirational books as well as glossy tabloids that I will keep piled up on my bedside table next to a box of caramel filled chocolates
(eaten at five AM when I still can't sleep even though I have to get up at eight)
and a tape of him singing "How Insensitive" (that I can no longer listen to)

I will have my job and I will work furiously till way past my hours, the office boy will leave but I will still be there, typing away, correcting, reading, willing the hours to go by so that I can go home and sleep soundly without dreams or midnight phone calls telling me that he misses me (standing on the corner of University street, holding a cup of Tim Thornton's coffee, wishing I was taking that walk to class with him in my PJ's and messed up hair).

He talks about how we could live there together, we daydream out loud about the coffee place I'd love to waitress in, how he'd come home after class and I'd be there with some burnt pasta and the pizza guy on speed dial, how he'd gently put down his brand new Fender before taking me up in his arms, and we'd watch bad Mexican soap operas together till the pizza guy comes, who turns out to be Lebanese so we invite him in for a slice and some talk about home and he says come by his uncle's shisha place and we can have free mint tea anytime.
After pizza guy leaves, I'd take a nap, he'd play guitar on our balcony, then we dress up to go out salsa dancing...

Somewhere in all this dreaming about a time that may never come, my heart tears at the sides ever so slightly, I look at his face and think "If you let me go, I won't mend again."