I refuse to let go.

The divorce cactus is trying to die again. Only this time it rots from the base up instead of sideways. Like he's really trying. Landry suggested the other night (over our classy dinner of Hamburger Helper and Presidente - note that the only reason we didn't have guacamole as an appetizer was because the avocados were questionable at best...) that perhaps it was only supposed to get me through the divorce. I have my doubts.

He sits - a little yellow - while I begin to make lists again. Planning, moving, upward, forward. Perhaps the familiarity of my lists and cardboard boxes will set him right. And back to green and spiteful.