Clayre has been here two days and I already sort of want to strangle her. But I suppose that would be a success in her book. It's hard for me to mourn and fret when I wish to flay my sibling alive and roll her still-conscious body in salt and lemon juice.
But it's good to have her here, vitriol aside. She has helped more than I thought she would. She's pushing my buttons. Keeping me distracted.
It still hurts, but I'm healing. I don't think I will be "better" by any stretch of the imagination for a long time, but I think...I think I might by okay for a while. I hope I can be okay for a while.
She's taking me out for late night ice cream. As much as I abhor to stick to the stereotypical feminine standby for feeling better, that sounds really, really fucking good right now.
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