I came home early. More specifically, I came home on the 31st of January instead of the 28th of February. It's a bit of a difference, I know. I felt, for several reasons, I had to come home. It's good being home. I hid nothing when it came to talks of how much I missed everyone, so my desire to be home veins from that (partially).
The snow is melting. I can see the (dead) grass. For the first time in months, I opened my window and let the breeze in. Excluding, of course, the time I basically broke into my house. (I needed to brush off my car. I started it to get it warmed up, closed the door, and began to dust off the snow. I didn't realize I had locked my only set of keys in my now-running car. I trudged through the knee-deep snow to the back gate and fumbled around for the spare key, which was no where to be found. I plodded over to my bedroom window and managed to get it open, but since I'm squishy and lack upper body strength, I wasn't able to hoist myself inside. Dragging my feet, I walked -back- through the snow to the garage, found a suitable step stool, went back to my bedroom window, climbed inside [getting snow all over my bed] and got the OTHER spare key to my car from the basement.) So, excluding that time, this is the first time my window has been opened since the weather dropped to horrible temperatures. Sammich is enjoying it greatly. He's perched sturdily in the sill, taking in the air and watching the movement outside.
Brett and I are no longer speaking. The story is long and strangled so I won't elaborate past this: he put his hands on Erica and I in a most unforgivable fashion, so I ripped him a new asshole. Not that he needed one; his entire essence reeks of asshole. His asshole potential is off the Richter. He is the manager of the Asshole Store. With a little patience and perseverance, he could some day own that Asshole Store and eventually climb the ranks of Asshole Incorporated to become Senior Asshole. Maybe someday he can achieve the ultimate rank of President Asshole of Asshole Incorporated, overseeing every other Asshole in the establishment and setting an example for his subordinates to increase their Asshole potential and be all they can be. Eventually he'll grow old and tired, and his Asshole legacy will go down in the books, and generation after generation will read stories of his Assholery and go "Wow, what an asshole he was!". It wouldn't be more true. There would never be an Asshole with more Asshole directly embedded into his brain than that of Brett Parker.
I think you get my drift, here. I fear for Erica's safety more than I'd like to admit, but ultimately the choice is hers. I won't force her to leave him, but I won't ask her to stay with him either. She knows how I feel. She knows that she can turn to me should she need help. That's all I can do.
Lack of finances and employment aside, it's good to be home.