My feeling of suffocation in the vacuum of loss isn't completely metaphorical. Apparently I'm having a common reaction to grief and breathing a little too shallowly. Good to know, I guess. I mean, I'm incapable of sleeping properly or holding a pen (shaky hands), so why should I assume that I'd be able to breathe properly?

I indulged in a few things from Amazon (some people are slaves to iTunes, but I'm addicted to Amazon) in the name of self-soothing-- one of which being Hellboy II. Way overdue in my paltry DVD collection. I took Nick to see it when we were both in post-breakup funks. He was skeptical at first, but Hellboy is awesome and Ron Perlman is awesome, and this scene is pretty damn awesome (crappy quality, but they're ridiculous about policing YouTube). He had a good time. So I'm watching it now on my laptop while Gone with the Wind is on TV (I can't not leave it on-- like any of the LotR series or the original SW trilogy), and I kind of wish I had a cold Tecate in hand because it's still 83 degrees in my apartment. Nick would understand. I know. I'm rambling. But it's my blog (even though the only time most anyone sees it is when it autoimports to FB), so I think it's allowed.

So. How many more months until I find something approximating normal?