The thing about blogging is it's best done when one is feeling happy. The problem with feeling happy is that it's currently February. That and I am in the midst of what is to date one of the strangest periods ever experienced in my life. Some of you may know that my dear husband fled to Toronto on a week's notice to pursue a fabulous opportunity with the Federal Government. (Yup, he's French. He's got the golden ticket).
I know what you're probably thinking, because I've been told it time and time again by well-intentioned friends and family members: "Long distance relationships happen to pretty much everyone at some point. It's perfectly normal. You'll see each other on weekends and everything will be fine."
I know that is true. And to be honest, I'm not even *all that upset* about it. The tears I shed were brought on more by sentiment and self-indulgence than full-out grief. That said, I would never describe how I've been feeling lately as happy.
More like numb and empty. The daily routines of life are just not the same without Steve. I thought if I put on the albums we always listen to together, and watch movies we've seen time and time again I would feel like he was right there beside me. But that's not how it works.
Instead, I find myself gravitating toward those things that brought me comfort long before Steve was a part of my life. Jazz music. Poetry. Really old movies. Cereal for dinner. (Yes, eating properly has been another issue.) It just hurts less that way.
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