Hey, Pathos! How's it Hangin'?

Had a little mini break down last night.

Again.

Part of it was because I was so tired. It was after midnight and I had been up since 6. I worked and then went to Twist and then went out for dinner and a movie with a Friend. We were talking about the Bartleby situation and I was thinking about heading home and suddenly I couldn't breathe and I couldn't stop crying. My friend has 3 daughters, all teenagers, so he is fairly adept at handling the crying female. He could probably write a book. (Of course, men tend not to read those kinds of books. Maybe he could write a pamphlet... or a series of suggestions that could be printed on napkins and distributed at sports bars).

This makes him a good person for me to have around these days!

He has had his own run of bad luck lately... and not all of it is my fault, I swear.

Most recently his house caught on fire. The fire alarm did not wake him, but his dog did, then his sweetie dog died from smoke inhalation. It's a terrible story (that you can read here) and the only good thing about it is that none of the kids were there when it happened. He is now living in a friend's basement while he works on restoring his house. I saw the house last night. Most of the damage is confined to the kitchen, but the smell from the smoke is overpowering, as is the amount of work that kind of destruction is going to take to fix.

Standing in the living room, looking into what is left of his kitchen I thought about what could have happened and I had to go back outside. There is so much damage. The fire was hot enough to melt pans together and crack the ceilings. It was scary to be there - even after the fact.

I am good in stressful situations. I am calm and can generally muster enough strength to get things done. I can take care of business. I can handle it.
After the dust settles I am usually a complete wreck.

So now I am concerned about how I am going to feel once we finally remove Bartleby the Barnacle from my den once and for all. Am I going to fall apart? (Leave it to me to take someone's house fire and apply it metaphorically to my own drama, right??) But once he is gone, am I going to look at the pathetic, charred remains of that part of my life and feel overwhelmed and depressed? Am I going to make it through this after all??
Sure, I have the strength to make it through to the end - the end being getting him out of my house - but then what?
What happens once I have used all of that energy and strength?

What will be left of me?
(Just imagine me in a reclined pose with my arms flung dramatically over my face).

Knitting content soon, I promise.