This should have been titled 'In which I learned to stop crying and love trouble in my life', but what the heck. Anyway, that would not have fit in with my fetish for single word or two to three word titles. But the crux of the matter is that the visitation is over and I have survived it much better than what I thought I would. I do not know if it is that we've lost the appetite for the infamous fights or if all of us had decided to become all grown up at the same time as a welcome coincidence, but we did manage to have a couple of constructive and sane discussions punctuated by a lot of driving up, down and across the city.
Eventually, everybody held their ground without threatening to kill each other (or themselves for that matter) and I was allowed to stick to my 'don't-wanna-get-married' and 'living-life-differently' themes without being asked if I was gay (at least not openly, as far as I know, though I have to debrief all the relations they'd met). But my health has taken a huge beating in the process. I can't remember when was the last weekend that I actually got to spend at home, lazing around and getting some much needed rest and like it is happening with K, the abuse I had earlier wreathed on my body is now coming back at me with a vengeance.
If I can be stupid enough to ignore to the impending physical meltdown, there is a near-clean sheet that awaits me. I have mercilessly slashed and burnt everything that has been close to me, including the incredible hurt I have caused to someone dear just for her only fault that she loved me, and now I stand with pretty much a clear view of the road ahead. Like everything else in the same vein, the anticipation was much greater than the actual event. When it came, it came on a day when all my insides were clogged with a bad sinus and chest infection, at the ITO crossing, with Tiesto's Adagio for Strings blasting from the stereo. Weird, but nothing special.