This blog entry hasn’t been happening because I don’t even know where to begin. Do I turn this into a sad-fest that nobody will really care about by mentioning how much I miss Levi—a fact that nobody, anywhere, presumes to be false—or, do I talk about how shitty the drive back home from New Jersey was? (It was pretty shitty.) I just haven’t really been able to decide.

I could mention that I’m pretty sure all of the false notifications of application updates on my phone and computer are trying to remind that I’m alone, but that would be ridiculous. (I’m on to you, little red circle with the number one in it…) Or that Facebook is also conspiring against me in reminding me I am by myself right now. (I mean, come on Facebook…how can you do this to me after I’ve clicked almost all of your underwear ads. I’m pretty sure I’m keeping the sexy mens underwear advertising business afloat.) But maybe, just maybe, I should talk about how I locked my keys in the car on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, along with my dog. (Who very clearly did not want us coming back into the car because she didn’t unlock it for us. So rude.) Perhaps I should also mention that the people of Pennsylvania weren’t too thrilled when I said I was locked out in Lawn, and then verified my location by saying, “You know, like grass?” (Seriously though, where is your sense of humor guys. Not even sympathy laughs?)

But if I talk about those things, how will I ever have the time to talk about my car trying to explode not even 10 miles outside of Rapid City, South Dakota or the time when we had to drive through Chicago after a very long day because all of the hotels in the town outside of Chicago have decided to stop accepting pets. (Why would you stop accepting pets? Wouldn’t it be better to charge me a shitty pet fee and throw me in a smoking room instead of making me drive through Chicago when I’m already freaking out about it? Did you also know that I had just left my husband behind in New Jersey and that I probably couldn’t deal with traffic? I’m pretty sure my phone, computer, Facebook and you are in cahoots.)

When I talk about those things, they kind of take away from talking about the roach motel we had to stay in in Bozeman, Montana. (It, too, was a smoking room. Also I didn’t actually see any of the roaches, but I was pretty sure they were smoking tiny roach cigarettes and laughing at me. Also, one of them got a bit rowdy and bit me. Or maybe he burnt me with his tiny roach cigarette. I really don’t know, all I know is I was attacked by one somehow. Oh, and there were cigarette burns in my bed linens.) The worst part was that had we not stayed in the roach motel, we probably would have gotten stuck somewhere on the highway in between Bozeman and Butte, our original goal. Actually, that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the food poisoning, though I won’t mention which one of us had it but it definitely ruined our final day of the trip. It was quite the miserable day. (Much sadness existed in the hotel room that morning, also my car was covered in snow which made my life even more difficult.)

But I shouldn’t talk about those things, because when I do it detracts further from the fact that I am now living in an empty home where the only things existing with me are the memories of a man who is almost 3,000 miles away from me yet still tearing at my mind like he were right next to me. (Oh, and a cat who defecates in a box in my storage closet but can’t clean up after herself, and a dog who is super annoying almost all of the time. My life is glamorous.) I really, really shouldn’t talk about that because it makes me seem like I’m not grateful for the good things that are happening in my life, like having friends who care enough about me to watch my apartment while I am away. Friends who bake me muffins and leave them for me to find so my arrival into an empty home isn’t so jarring right away. Friends who buy plane tickets to Philadelphia to accompany me and my sadness all of the way back to Washington. Friends who endure roach motels, car lockouts, engines exploding, and annoying dogs and can still lend a hug when I’m in need. Friends who welcome me into their homes when the tears come late at night, only because they know it must be hard for me. Friends who make me lunch and bring brownies and play video games with me for hours knowing that it will make me feel better.

Friends willing to deal with my crazy, only because they care.