This house was a dream come true. Spacious bedroom, hardwood floors,  and a living room and kitchen we could entertain in. A spare room for my business. Even a claw-foot bathtub. And then, completely out of nowhere, all of that simply stopped.

That period of time is easy to think about. About, around, over and outside. I can picture myself going through it all, and I remember how much it hurt, but it's still separate from me. I don't experience it. I watch it happen to past-me, who isn't here anymore. I notice she's hurt, breaking, dying. The future, plans, and everything she thought she wanted disappearing . . .

And then there's limbo. Outside of time and space, old-me is gone, but present-me doesn't exist yet. In the limbo, there are infinite options for what could happen next. The die has been thrown, but it has not yet landed. The space I will occupy is still empty.

Suddenly here I am. I'm alone. Six months have passed, and I've woken in an empty bed, with a laptop, my possessions in boxes. Somehow, time and space did happen and I'm leaving the place I dreamt of. Limbo-me got a work visa and new friends and a whole lot of balls.  Limbo-me booked me a plane ticket, found me a place to live, and packed up my belongings. Limbo-me worked out things with the ex and quit the job that was killing me and tried running a few times. Limbo-me got her shit together.

But I'm back to regular present-day me again, and I'm not sure I want to let go.