Return of the Long Distance Relationship Blues
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Still on a bit of an emotional seesaw.
Some days are filled with inexplicable pleasure in being alive.
Others leave me feeling that if I died in my sleep it’d be OK. I’m not too fretful about ceasing to be. Though I am of death having a painful preface.
Charles death has clearly taken something out of me. I’m not sure I’ll ever get it back. What have I lost? Much of my capacity for hope. I’m not too fearful of the future. Or rather my fear does no more than justice to likely outcomes. But there’s no consoling optimism.
And being in a long distance relationship is stretching my psychic ligaments to their limit.
When will I see Sendy again? How much time will we have together? Can we make those days yield as much pleasurable companionship as possible?
Some days find myself actually regretting my strongly monogamous nature. But that is shadow boxing with a denied heart and libido. I can no more be unfaithful than I can grow eight arms.
But it wounds me for my imagination to wage a battle with my ethics.
But there is no neat answer to the puzzle. There can be only patience. As a flawed novel by a favorite writer put it “waiting is.”