I have never minded being alone, have always been comfortable in my own company. But this is different. Alone is one thing, but LIVING alone is quite another. I want Clint back. I want him to come home. Absurd? Of course it's absurd. I know he can't come home; I just know I want him to. Am I okay? Hell no, I'm not okay, and what is more, I don't want to be okay. Not yet. I need to cry some more and be mad as hell for as long as I need to be mad. I need to grope around in this hole in my heart, searching for Clint and knowing he can't come home, that he's not there. Everything about the way I feel us insane. Hell, I can't find the damned light switches in my own house, I'm so dazed and confused and lost. Kay invited me to go to a movie tomorrow and I said I would try. I know I won't go, I just know it. I don't want to be entertained and laugh and act normal. Nothing about this is normal. Every day I live for 9 PM so I can take my medicine and get sleepy and drift away to that place where I don't have to deal with this. Clint's description of sleep was "Falling into the arms of Morpheus." I always loved that. Sarah has been hounding me, wanting to come over and bring me some gift she bought for me on her honeymoon in Hawaii. She wants to be near Poppy's ashes, she says. Bullshit. Where was she when he was alive and would have loved a visit from her? She only used him when she wanted something. I don't want her in my house, but I finally gave in and said she could come tomorrow. I asked her to respect Poppy's memory by removing that disgusting thing she has stuck in her lip while she is here. This visit is not about me or Poppy. It's about her. She doesn't do anything that's not for her. She's looking for some kind of closure. Even though I don't want her here, I am going to give in and get it over with, stop the sappy phone messages that hurt me to hear.