I should be ecstatic. I was this morning at least. My team goes on to the ALCS. I love those boys. They play like it's little league. Like it's still a game. Like it's fun. And it is. I jumped out of my seat and screamed when Bobby hit that ball off the green monster, and then again when Vlad hit that first pitch. It was insane. Such a great comeback. And even more meaningful that it was against Boston. Love. I love love love this game.
Then... drove to meet the boy in San Clemente. I shouldn't have. And I'm not going to do that again.
Drove home mad. Walked into the apartment mad. Saw the toaster oven by the packed boxes and that was the last straw. It wasn't about the toaster even. So much like what I just drove away from. I knew things were going to change, but I guess I just hadn't prepared myself for it. No one told me what was happening, and I hate the miscommunication. I know it's not mine to lose, but I still feel the loss. Apparently there's a place for everything. And I have been put in my right place as well.
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