I am an island

I wish I was an island, with guards and gates and rope bridges and a team of psychologists who examined whether or not letting someone on to the island is a good idea or not, without me ever having to know. But I'm not. I'm an empty block on a busy street, no fences.

I had a marvelous day with Elliot yesterday despite being chaperoned by the rehab escort but something is creeping in. All day I checked my email, just in case. All day I felt a rumbling in my foundations. All day I felt, strange and then this evening its manifested into something odd.
He doesn't like my curtains.
He hates my curtains and its doing my head in.

I love my curtains. They're only Ikea curtains, yes yes Ikea is the devil etc, but I love them. They were the first thing I bought for my life post Artboy. I remember coming swinging across the carpark with a stupid grin on my face, convinced for the first time, that I could make a new life for myself, one piece of fabric at a time.

Yesterday, sitting on my bed with cup of tea in hand, Elliot strumming away on the guitar and Raul sitting silent like a sentinel, Elliot suddenly looked up and declared "I hate your curtains. A dead moose could have picked better curtains." I can't remember if I asked him if he liked them or if he just made the evil proclamation unprompted and now I am obsessed.

I tried to phone rehab and ask if he meant it or if he was joking but he's in an AA meeting. I left a message asking him to call me but I doubt he'll be able to manage it this evening, things are pretty strict in rehab but I am a woman possessed by the need to talk about my curtains. I wasn't going to phone him for a while, thought it best or didn't want to start timetabling my life around talking to him but this is overriding every sane thought I've ever had. I need to talk to him about my curtains, now and I don't care how I manage it.