I don't know if it's possible to articulate what Wombat means to me. A very - very - dear friend... once boyfriend, now just good friend, the kind that punches you in the arm and says "Shuddup, Beavis" when you start giggling...
He knows I get dizzy from my meds, so he always watches out for me. He tells me bluntly that he thinks I'm too damn skinny now. He remembers that I use one of those cuffs that you put on cups of hot coffee on cold drinks, too, because I'm so cold-sensitive, and he gets 'em for me without me asking. He looks out for me. He offers to kneecap people for me. He gives awesome shoulder rubs. He made me a Jedi uniform. He built several of my bookcases, and measured my new house. He teases me like a big brother. He knows me and he loves me anyway. That's the definition of a true friend, right?
He's going to New York because that's where he needs to be. He's been needing it the whole time I've known him, and he's finally making it happen, and I am so happy for him and proud of him. And I'm glad I was able to keep from crying in his presence, because that would've been all girly and awkward and stuff.
I love my Wombat, and he's going away.
murnkay, and the rest of the New York crew - take care of this guy, or I'll kick your asses. Don't think I won't.