I log in, hit post, and stare at this blinking cursor that seems to taunt me with its incessant blinking—like a judgmental eye, waiting for me to say something profound. Spoiler alert: that’s not happening. So, brace yourself for what can only be described as a delightful torrent of bratty brain diarrhea. No attempt to tidy up these thoughts; consider this my hateful gift to you.

It feels utterly absurd, and perhaps a touch inadequate, that after my extended sabbatical from LiveJournal, I’ve chosen to write about Kris Aquino and Wheel of Fortune amidst the chaos of the past few weeks. But hey, let’s tune this circus up a notch.

Ah, 2007! What a delightful dumpster fire of a year. Here’s hoping 2008 will show me a modicum of mercy. 2007 was a year of endings—my personal version of an emotional buffet, and I was forced to adjust to a myriad of seismic shifts. Quite frankly, it’s been brutal, and I can barely keep my head above water.

Recently, Ed left for the States, lured by a job offer that practically sang to him. I’m left here, sorting through the chaos of my life, with plans to join him in three months. Well, technically in two months, but I won’t see him until early May. I’m not taking this lightly; this is the longest we’ve been apart, and let me tell you, adjusting has been a Herculean task. I wake up and suddenly find myself in a void! No one to rouse me from slumber, no one to anticipate when I get home, no one to hug or kiss. The longing is so intense, it feels like a physical ache! I’ve oscillated between tears and staring blankly at the wall. For the first few days, I was glued to my bed, struggling to concentrate on anything—my attention span has plummeted to that of a particularly distracted puppy. I’m utterly stuck.

This January, Ed and I vacated our apartment, and I’ve moved back to my mother’s nest. After more than three years of crafting a cozy home out of our one-bedroom love nest, it feels like I’ve been exiled. I miss everything—the kitchen where I cooked for him, the bathroom, the precious free Wi-Fi, the smell of cabinets that held our shared memories. I even miss those quiet moments on the couch and taking smoke breaks with Jedi the Dalmatian. Yes, it’s a backward move, but I couldn’t bear to keep the apartment; the thought alone would send me spiraling into a pit of despair. At least here, I can share a beer or two with my little brothers, which, let’s be honest, is a silver lining.

Long-distance relationships are the absolute worst. Webcams and phone calls? Sure, they’re a substitute, but let’s not kid ourselves—it’s nowhere near the real thing. I feel utterly helpless and ensnared in this tangled web of longing. Cue the dramatic music.

And now, I think I finally understand what this blinking cursor is trying to tell me. It’s whispering, “Wait.” It’s reminding me that our time will come, and it’s demanding a hefty dose of patience. I desperately want to embrace my inner adult about this, but those childish pangs of longing keep creeping in. So here I am, impatiently waiting for my life to kickstart again.