I spent the weekend away from home, hanging out with people who don't make me angry or sad. We drank wine and watched movies and didn't really talk much about the impending upheaval of my existence. We laughed, I cried sometimes, and listened to people tell me how much better off I will be when this is all said and done. But there were still tears. For what? Failure? Loneliness? Anger? Maybe a bit of all of those mixed together.

But there is much to look forward to, and I will walk away from all of this knowing that it wasn't entirely my fault. Oh, I'm sure I'll get the blame in various conversations, but I can't help what others say or think about me. I'm too old to care about that sort of thing. But still, a little part of me would really like for those people to know what really happened; to know that I'm not a heartless, evil bitch; to know that, in spite of what one person may say, I did give this as much effort as I could. I'm not perfect, nor have I ever claimed to be.

Turth be told, this was over a long time ago. But neither of us wanted to admit that.

I've never thought that I asked for too much from my romantic interests. I have very small list of 'deal breakers' - very small indeed. Breaking one is sometimes forgivable, depending on the circumstances. But breaking all of them, well that's just not acceptable. No, not at all.