The meal was lovely, in the end. Just lovely. And yes, I felt shaky and nervous and downright weird for most of the evening and then didn’t sleep last night, and yes, I woke up this morning feeling no better, but it was OK, because I felt safe.
I really don’t want S to become my safety, like that. I don’t want to have to rely on him utterly. I am glad he can help, but I don’t want to turn to him every time I’m a bit down, or getting irrationally afraid, and so on. There’s no reason I can’t do this on my own, except, well, past experience. But past experience says nothing about how much better I would cope if I could just collapse on Someone the first chance I got.
Meanwhile I haven’t slept in two nights, forgive me. Let’s hope tonight I sleep better.
As for my birthday, well, I feel increasingly old, sometimes. And I want lots of sensible things and, by and large, I am getting those things. I think a birthday is, for me, better seen as merely an excuse to acquire useful things and get some reasonably pleasant people into the same room as me in some reasonably nice clothes with some reasonably nice drinks and things, in the most generic sense; no need for it to be about me as such at all.
