Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Brenda Miller

Brenda Miller wrote me a letter of complaint. I wrote back. It was extremely satisfying to respond to the letter without the usual concern about the job, the administration, the future. I almost enjoyed it.

Last night I was stupid enough to write an email. How can I be so lonely when Shawn was home so long? Maybe it made it worse. I have no one to talk to about how this feels.

Monday, May 23, 2005

So the spiral has turned inside out again and I'm screwed. Totally screwed up. Lonelier than ever even with Shawn here beside me all week. How do you go around loneliness when it's gotten that big?

Tomorrow I'll go back to work. I'll talk to people all day. Might that help?

I'm more lost than I've been in a long time. Running around in circles. I have no one to talk to.

Sunday, May 15, 2005

With Him Home

With Shawn home with me, everything feels different. Because he's been gone so long, when he's home it feels like we're on vacation. Even with all the jobs we need to get done.

I think my favourite thing will always be waking up before him and sneaking out of the bedroom to here, where I sit with my coffee, sipping quietly and listening to him and the puppies breathe heavily while they sleep.

My real family means more to me.

Friday, May 13, 2005


Sometimes I think that I'm going to talk to you again. I imagine what I would say if I did talk to you. I make up conversations in my head. Of course when I make up your words I make you say the right things, the things you stopped saying and the things that used to mean everything to me. I think about gifts I would send you- even start the process of putting them together... stalled suddenly by the realisation that it's completely inappropriate. I told myself I would never.

Never talk to you again unless I could do it with clear intentions. And I know that by the time I have those, there will be no reason to talk to you ever. Again.

Sometimes I think after two glasses of wine some Friday night I will just start talking again, whining maybe, crying even. Asking you to explain who you became, or asking you to rewind and do everything my way.

I always knew this would happen. I always knew. Maybe in knowing that I made certain it did. I don't want you in my life. I never want to feel that way again. And yet I miss the familiar pain of being last.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005


I am painting painting painting over everything that used to be here. I'm hiding all the dirt and the dents and I'm watching my home grow beautiful and unfamiliar. I'm leaving here. I'm going to begin a new life.

I want to stay here.

But I want change. I want to grow. I want my husband next to me while I sleep.

He will be home on Friday. That's only two days away. Then maybe painting over my old life won't be so lonely and sad.