I went to see Catholic's new house in Ottawa this weekend. My friend, Catholic: married with a mortgage. Wow. And it's a lovely little house, big enough for them and it has very nice bathrooms and a nice kitchen. There are a few things inside that aren't what you would expect; the layout has been changed from the original, which is kinda cool.

Brent is living with Catholic and Andrew, too. He's interning at Andrew's work and if he gets hired there he'll be sticking around another six months before he finds his own place. I'm happy for him because this is a creative job, not a marketing job. His odds of being happy are certainly better than they were.

The weekend was a fun if not a quick visit. We watched movies, drank, played Scrabble (I won) and went out for Chinese food buffet. Catholic is coming up to see me in Toronto in three weeks for my birthday. Hopefully, anyway. The bus schedule might not work with her work schedule.

I got back yesterday and for some reason in the evening I was hit by a dark mood. I just ached inside. I guess it might have been because I was thinking about Shawn. I was able to move past my grandparents' deaths better because they were old, sick and in two cases, their partner was already gone. It comforted me to know they were together again. It's different when a young man suddenly dies when he was supposed to have his whole life ahead of him.

So that upset me. And I was thinking about how tired I was. Two family deaths in the span of a few months, and this year has also held for me an operation, intestinal problems followed by an irritating diagnosis for a life-long condition, and a really depressive episode involving grief earlier this year. All of this wrapped in the fact that I feel bored and unhappy in my job.

So I was tired. And then my dad called and, though I won't get into the details, it also made me tired. I was expecting, because of the nature of the conversation, the kind of scary emotional blowup he used to give me. Instead I got understanding. It was wild.

And it brought up a lot of trust issues, because over the past couple years I've been taking baby steps to try and trust him again. Frankly, it scares me because I've gotten burned so many times from trusting him. So, when he does things that are normal and, well, fatherly it can scare me because it makes me start to trust him again.

So, while I cried and tried to explain to Ross why I was crying he was patient and he held me and kissed me and ran his fingers through my hair.

When I told him I was tired he wanted to know what he could do to make me fell better. I really didn't know. So we crawled into his bed and he held me to him while he played with my hair and rubbed my back for hours. Hours.

And I felt better. I felt loved and cared for and less tired. I felt closer to him too.

When he finished and we were going to leave his apartment for my apartment he asked me, "Are you going to remember tonight as a good night or a bad night?" And I realized that it was a good night because he had made it a good night for me. And I think back to yesterday now and I can't remember how bad I felt but I do remember how loved and safe I felt with Ross.

And I can't think of anything better than being with someone who can turn my bad feelings into something good.

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