Looking on the last year I am quite certain I've come to a good place to be a normal person. A year ago I was going through some serious friend and relationship problems that has been on my mind recently so I thought it would be worth jotting down. Work had become a little bit frustrating (but after two months in a place, not nearly as frustrating as it could). Living with my parents was tolerable but not optimal.

But I should probably start by explaining where I am now. Everything should look pretty normal. I'm working at a nice entry-level editing job with decent pay and good benefits. The company is doing well due to some really smart partnering and so it's not likely to go anywhere soon. I'm paying off the loans on my car and my education (which, unfortunately, I'm not using, more on that later). I've gotten my own apartment, which I'm still arranging. And I have a significant other.

For me getting to that state was an extraordinarily difficult thing to do. A year ago all of the plans had been set in place to get to this state, but a year before that, this state would have seemed like the most unlikeliest situation.

Two years ago I was living in a good sized one bedroom apartment with two other friends and a cat near downtown LA. Some parts weren't too bad and they kept me going when faced with the parts that were just crushing. I kept a small amount of income going by temping which kept most of the bill collectors at bay. It was very difficult to focus on getting a real job because I was still under the illusion that once I got everything in order I would just write to theatres until one would notify me about a paying position. It was foolish, but it was what I believed in.

Back then I thought living with friends would mean that I was close to them. More foolishness.

And I thought that depending utterly on myself would drive away the feelings of self-doubt that frequently rode me into the ground. Two years ago this month I went through some of the worst depression I had ever faced and I had nearly no avenues to turn to. Getting up and going to work was a crushing task and sometimes I didn't make it. The fact that I'm still alive, I maintain, is completely due to one friend. We'll call him the Squire of Dimness (or Squire, for short).

Now, he wasn't riding around trying to save damsels in distress. I mean, I'm sure he would have liked to, and probably would still love to, but he always understood that you can't save a girl from herself. So he patiently listened to me and gave me encouragement when he could and put an arm around me when he couldn't. Squire and I had either a really simple or a really complex relationship, depending on how you look at it. I tend to think that it was a close friendship with aspects of intimacy that were born out of convenience. I *know* he took it as more than that. The dangerous part, of course, was that we always insisted that there was no need to formalize it. We were friends, we were lovers, we didn't need anything else from each other.

Two years ago he saved my life with a telephone call. I doubt he knows that, and I doubt he ever will. But I know I've never had a better friend, and so of course my only response would be to later break his heart.

If our relationship was relegated to one of convenience, then I felt no qualms, and still feel few, about seeing other people. So I did. I went out and looked around and found someone else. I didn't really expect that. I certainly didn't expect how things would work out after that.

I never anticipated how quickly it would all crash together and just how much hung in the balance. I certainly didn't guess exactly how hurt Squire would be, though it frustrates me to know that he was most upset to know it was molasses. He would have been less irritated if it had been someone else, and he probably would not have insisted on ending everything if he had been a she.

A year ago this week hardly anyone was speaking to anyone either out of anger or of fear of further irritation. And today I still feel my blood drain when Squire freely lets on about his hatred for Molasses. It's an inconsistent hatred at best, it has to be remembered and is often quickly forgot, or not acted on when the two are together.

Integral to this story is Molasses' immediate ex Talula (not her real name). They had been broken up for a long time before he and I got together for the first time but had continued a relationship of convenience. To absolutely no one's surprise this caused her to continue to feel as though she had claims on him, a design that Molasses deeply resented. Of course Talula thought, as the rest of us have thought at various times of nearsighted delusions, why shouldn't sex equal an intimate relationship?

Talula and I had once been friends, and if I can I will still protect her. I don't know how very angry she still is with me. There was a time, less than a year ago when she was calling all of the forces of heaven and hell and some powers that belong to neither pantheon to strike me down. I haven't talked to her in ages, partly because she's been out of the country. But she's due back soon.

In the past year work has been interesting in no small part because I can't keep my damned mouth shut. I am pretty convinced that I am smarter than both my supervisor and my director. Not sure about the leads (who are below them). But I've also become convinced that no power on earth would make me want their jobs.

But I am no closer to working in theatre than I was two years ago and this disturbs me greatly.

That's it. For now.