Not writing because I'm not sure what I'm feeling.
There is Roi not calling for two whole days, and while I don't miss him I find I tell myself he may have met someone, or changed his mind. Well, really, the two go together. My mind doesn't get hooked on this the way it once did. Only a lazy circling over practical details I don't feel ready for.
I am watching Planet Earth again. At present a morbid section of the various fatal fates of insects. Killer fungi whose spores infect the brain of an ant and then grow a stalk out of the ant's skull. The beautiful Pitcher Plant that traps and then digests insects. In such a world is it simply naive to expect a sustained happiness?
There is Kyd who is home from a 3 day music festival to celebrate his birthday. I listen to him tell the stories one tells after re-emerging from such an event and I find I haven't the patience or energy to feel, never mind pretend to feel, excited. I swallow down the questions about tomorrow and next week and the week after that because not having these answers starts to awaken anxiety.
There were the two days of beautiful sun and the hours spent with Lexie. We sunned ourselves on a grassy knoll at the local swimming hole, ate sandwiches at a bright and friendly cafe, and then watched The Birdcage and giggled ourselves into fits over Agador and Albert.
There were the triggers. They still come even in the absence of any feelings for Roi. They are softer now, but troubling to me in that they happen at all.
There is the wondering if some things I've said here have caused distress and defiant anger for one or two of my readers, and the following familiar feelings that my story will never belong to me.
There is the realization that today I no longer believe in basic goodness or love.
There are the feelings returning to my body. Enough so that I exercise just a little. Not enough to sweat, but enough to feel muscles clench and release and stretch, and the next day feeling the skin a little tighter.
There is the satisfaction from completing chores that have gone undone for too long.
There are the sharp edges of anxiety over all that still isn't done that has gone undone for too long. Things that have much larger consequences than not cleaning the refrigerator or matching all the socks. The not feeling ready to tackle these things because I can't get close to those edges.
There is life, and it goes on.