Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Which I am so not prepared for.
I mean…moneywise?
Oh yeah.
My business has yielded and currently yields enough income to put me in a house that could be quite incredible.
Emotionally…?
No.
That would be running and I’m still in the crawling phase.
Renting a bougie townhome is a good step towards figuring out just who the hell I am and where the hell I am in my life.
The extended stretch of silence indicates I have the man on the other end of the phone rattled, something that has me victoriously smiling. “Your request for compensation will require approval by my supervisor; however, you can expect an updated lease agreement with the prorated amount in your inbox within three to five business days.”
“Let’s make it two.”
There’s an unhappy grumbling that’s followed by throat clearing. “Two it is, Miss Morrison.”
“Perfect!”
“Is there anything else I can do for you this morning?”
Paying for the mover’s cancellation fee – again – out of his own pocket seems to be the only thing I can think of but getting out of paying three months rent should take away a bit of the sting from that. “No, thank you.”
“Very well, have a great day, Miss Morrison.”
“You too.”
As soon as I end the call on my cell, I release a giant exhale.
Well, that was the first true success that I’ve had in fucking weeks.
Ever since the moment I refused Xander’s proposal – proving to me his face can actually express human emotions – and got a letter that I had no clue how to respond to, my life has been like a cinnamon twist of cancellations and inconveniences.
I went from having a place to live to not knowing when I can definitely move out of Katherine’s guesthouse, although Carter doesn’t seem to mind having someone help with Angel pre and post nanny drop in moments since Katherine is now in book launch mode where she won’t be home for more than a weekend here or there.
I went from expecting to watch documentaries about The American Revolution while pretending I didn’t hate spinach, feta cheese, and green olive pizza on Thursdays to eating cold Chinese food in between making lists of things I don’t have but probably should have in my new place.
And I went from anticipating a quick – yet still somewhat satisfying – lay after a day too long for its own good to cursing myself out for somehow misplacing the USB cord to my fucking favorite clit toy.
Practically nothing has been going right.
Even my dry-cleaning order got fucked up!
Usually, Xander would collect all that needed to be cleaned on Friday night, we would drop it off Saturday before the gym or Sunday if he wasn’t in the mood to wait in a line, and then he would pick it up whenever it was ready.
Never any issues.
The first time I did it on own?
They gave me what clearly belonged to a cast of Austin Power impersonators and then argued with me about the order for forty-five minutes before realizing I was right!
I sat in my car and sobbed into an apple fritter I got from the bakery next door afterward.
Not my finest moment.
I know.
What can I say though?
It constantly feels like I’m drowning.
Sure, being with Xander was like going through a well-executed checklist the morning of some magical vacation it’s clear that you’re never actually going to get to, but at least things didn’t always feel like they were failing.
Then again…now that I think about it…I guess I didn’t feel much of anything anymore.
Secure numbness isn’t what anyone should look forward to, let alone miss.
Yet I do.
I miss the strategically planned order of certain days and events. I miss knowing he was going to get out of bed exactly six minutes prior to his phone alarm going off, use his electric toothbrush while listening to an environmental podcast on animals, and do his best to “pee quietly” so that he didn’t wake me up in the process. And while I may not miss him per say, part of me misses the simplicity of knowing the patterned way my day was likely going to unfold.
Katherine previously cycled through terms for this movement in my life.
“Self-Resuscitation” was the first.
Hated it.
Made me feel think hospitals and dying and then of course dying all alone at one hundred and eleven because I couldn’t make it work with someone that I may not have been in love with but was definitely adjusted to.
“Self-Resurrection” was next.
That poor phrasing not only created urges to watch movies like Zombieland while doing monthly behavior reports for the staff but had me spiraling into a line of thinking that I couldn’t survive by myself in a non-apocalyptic world let alone one where flesh eating monsters were chasing me during my crusade for a fucking twinkie.
She finally decided on “Relationship Revolution” during a video chat call in which I watched her drink almost an entire bottle of complimentary champagne while I had to pretend that drinking a virgin mango daiquiri – due to watching Angel because their nanny was sick, and Carter having a business dinner – was delicious. According to her, it was “great branding” that could encompass so many of the new chapters in my life that I’m beginning to explore as well as be used to sell a follow up to the book that recently hit the shelves.